


Durin's Gift

by ContraryBee



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, F/M, Original Character(s), Original Female Character(s) - Freeform, fifteenth walker, the journey
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-04
Updated: 2017-08-28
Packaged: 2018-10-14 23:11:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 14
Words: 75,577
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10545936
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ContraryBee/pseuds/ContraryBee
Summary: A great deal of hurt and pain must happen. It must. But to change the course of the future, all it takes is the faith and belief that what you need doesn’t always have to be what you want. It can be found anywhere, even in the most unlikely of places. Beneath a tree's roots, for example. Even for the most unlikely of people. Perhaps, someone who doesn't know her own name.What follows is very much the story of Kili and the girl that was given to him.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> If you're expecting a literary masterpiece, or anything with really deep meaningful philosophical discussions, really, turn around. This is a shameless OC/SI that kept me sane throughout writing my thesis. Once I could no longer pull theoretical critical conversation from harry potter time travel fanfiction (yeah, I wrote my thesis on it), the promise of Kili's flowing brown hair kept me strong. 
> 
> Anyways, yeah, not a MarySue, I promise (I think), but otherwise, just let yourself drift away and imagine being clasped up in a dwarf's arms. 
> 
> Expect crappy renditions of songs. Because I am unoriginal and it makes me happy.
> 
> also - the only K rated thing I've ever done. I don't know, it just never got sexy to me. Maybe when I'm all done.

She was alone. Hopelessly alone, and somewhat confused as to how she had gotten here. She had a vague recollection of going to sleep, of a deep noise that warbled like words from somewhere far away, and then nothing after that. Waking beneath a great tree, its roots coddling her and sheltering her from the night air, she had woken there and wondered why she wasn’t terrified. Perhaps it was the dream she had woken from, where everything was white and warm and gentle.

 

Well, she was scared, but it wasn’t the fear of knowing you’re somewhere you shouldn’t be. It was the scared of being alone after dark, in a forest where any manner of beings would feel the need to eat her. Though, the tree’s roots were shaped well, caging her in but also making it difficult for anything to get at her. That was one thing, she was in a tree. A tree.

 

What was worse was that she couldn't remember.

 

What was her name? What were her family’s name, where did she live? She couldn’t remember where, beyond that it was very far from here, and she didn’t remember how she got here of all places. She had been happy there. Or had she been?

 

The one thing that resonated in her soul, was that this was meant to be. She was supposed to be here.

 

However, being _here_ in the dark in the heart of a tree in her admittedly thin, short, and altogether not warm clothing was not very nice at all. Rustling and insect noises in the dark made her flinch, twitching and curling up into the smallest ball she could. She hoped there wasn’t any bugs in the dirt with her, and that dawn wasn’t far off. That didn’t seem likely, as she was watching the stars come out one by one above her.

 

She didn’t want to sleep, either, feeling as though she’d slept a long time and didn’t want to slip back into that darkness. The light of the stars was enough for her, and she watched them travel across the night sky through the gap between the roots.

 

It was cold, but not freezing, and it took only a few hours until she saw light. Not just any light, but firelight. It bobbed and moved in the darkness, accompanied by the comforting sound of cheerful voices.

 

She couldn't hear words, but she realized that the torch would pass by close to her spot. And she liked the sound of them, evil creatures wouldn’t be telling dirty jokes and giggling like school children would they?

 

“E-excuse me.” she rasped, horrified by the state of her voice. Dry, cracking, it sounded like she hadn’t spoken in a very long time. “Excuse me!” She tried again, coughing.

 

“Wait, wait, shh,” One of the voices paused, following by a smacking noise, like the back of a hand hitting someone’s stomach. Both quieted, waiting.

 

Her nameless self licked her lips, “Excuse me, I could probably use some help?” She sounded thin and weak, and she wondered how long she had slept beneath this tree.

 

“Over here, Fili, it’s a voice.” One of them said, thumping noises of his boots telling her that he approached. He sounded youthful, but not childlike.

 

The torch came closer, and eventually they stumbled over where she was hidden in the roots, only her hand sticking out of the dirt and darkness letting them know she was there.

 

“A girl!” said the first to reach her, bending down. He had darker hair, but so far his face was in black. The torchlight following him and a man came with it. She could only see that he was blonde and with a mustache that had dangling braids. Something felt a little bit off.

 

“Hello.” She tried to smile, squinting at the brightness of the fire so close.

 

“Now how did you get in there, miss?” the blonde one asked, a little bemused.

 

“Nevermind, we need to get her out!” the other one said, grinning a little and turning so the fire revealed his face. He was younger than the other, with long hair and barely a beard. “Kili, at your service!” He gave an awkward bow, already trying to find a way to pry the roots apart.

 

“And Fili, at your service!” the blonde said, bowing where he stood, smiling at her.

 

“I’m sorry I have no name to give you. I don’t remember.” She figured she might as well be polite. “And I don’t know how I got here, I woke up beneath the tree.”

 

“Woke up beneath the tree?” the blonde one, Fili, stuck the torch in the dirt and stepped into the divots of roots to help.

 

“Must have been one hell of a night, if you pardon my say so!” Kili huffed a bit of a laugh, tugging at roots to see which ones were loose enough she could have slipped through to get in there. He started to frown when he found none of them would budge.

 

“I couldn’t tell you, I can’t remember.” She tried to slip back so they had room to work, distracted by her memory blanks. “I can’t remember anything.” She said more quietly, almost to herself.

 

“We’ll get you out, Miss, no problem. There’s nothing me and my brother here can’t get done!” Fili got out his knife and, while Kili held the roots steady, started to saw and hack away at where they plunged into the dirt. Brothers that made sense.

 

She found she had the energy to smile, “Thank you. I would have been trapped here for who knows how long if you hadn’t come along.”

 

“How did you get here? Where do you live?” Kili asked, trying to see if she had any injuries.

 

“I...I don’t know.” She replied, at a loss.

 

“Well, how about, where’s your family, are you alone?” Kili thought this was quite odd, a strange nameless girl discovered in the roots of a tree that she couldn’t possibly have gotten into in the first place. One who had no memories it seemed, other than her name.

 

Fili would have thought something sinister was afoot, if not for her scrawniness and that she smelled clean, somehow, even after a night in the dirt.

 

“Here we go!” Fili said, holding the roots up and out of the way so she could crawl out, Kili giving a hand to help pull.

 

As soon as she was out, moving slowly as if her limbs were cramped, Fili and Kili stood her up and immediately coughed, blushing, shuffling on their feet.

 

“Uhm, Miss, are you aware--” Fili started, awkward.

 

“You’re naked.” Kili whispered, stunned by her lack of clothes. He also shamefully couldn’t draw his eyes away.

 

“Oh!” she said, surprised, as if she had forgotten. She wrapped her arms around herself, ankles crossing in self-consciousness. “This is how I woke up….and I’m not naked, I’m wearing my sleep clothes.”

 

They weren’t any kind of sleep clothes Kili had ever seen before. They were rather saucy in fact, properly scandalous for dwarf women standards. She looked like a human, though remarkably short, around the same height as himself. He noticed, awkwardly because he couldn’t _help_ but notice, that she was on the thinner side, pale as the moon, and covered in dirt. Her legs were long, with knobby knees, and, he noticed with a certain fixation he couldn't understand, nearly free of hair. Just a light dusting that was so light in color it barely even reflected the torchlight. Did all human women look like this?

 

“Aren’t you cold?” Fili said, and then starting, unclasping his cloak and holding it out to her. “Here, wear this.”

 

“Thank you.” She said, accepting it and slipping it around her thin shoulders. In the movement, Fili noticed the strange markings on her forearm, something like a tattoo but he didn’t think a young human woman her age would have tattoos.

 

“What's that, on your arm?” he asked, suspicious, because it looked like script.

 

“Hmm?” the nameless girl looked, surprised at the sight of the dark lines crossing her skin in a language she had never seen before. “That's….that’s new.” She frowned, something strange panging in the back of her mind. “Do you know what it says?”

 

Stretching out her arm, she was suddenly thankful for the cloak that hid her...nakedness. It was also very warm and smelled of campfire and pine.

 

Kili tilted his head and shifted to get a better read of it, the torch leaving its pace in the dirt to shine on her. It was unreadable to him, but it struck him as somewhat….dwarvish.

 

“Ancient dwarvish?” he said to his brother, perplexed. “Do you know you have ancient dwarvish runes on your arm?” He asked the girl, who rather looked like a stiff wind could knock her over underneath the weight of his brother’s cloak.

 

She blinked back at him, as confused as he. “Are you dwarves?”

 

“Yes! Can’t you tell?” Kili asked her, confused. He thought it was obvious. She merely shook her head.

 

“Well, anyways, we’d better get a move on. Otherwise we’ll be later than the others!” Fili gestured to the little thing, beckoning her to come along.

 

“Oh, well,” she started, walking on bare feet through the trees alongside him, “If you could maybe point me to the closest town, I think I could find a way to...to…” she was at a loss.

 

“To what? Have no memories there?” Kili said from behind her, “Come along with us, I think Mr. Balin will be with the others, he’s very knowledgeable. He might know what your arm says. And the wizard, Gandalf! He should know for sure.”

 

“I couldn’t! You’ve already helped me so much, I can’t ask for more.” Although, the sound of going somewhere safe and cozy and warm, and with them, the first two people she’d met in this world since...since whatever happened, sounded nice. The two seemed trustworthy.

 

“Not at all, Miss. Digging you out of your hole was little more than common courtesy. I figure you’ll need something much more than being born out of earth and tree to turn us away!” Fili jested from in front of her, leading the way with his torch.

 

She stumbled along behind, stubbing her toes on roots and rocks. She thought they were being very kind to her.

 

“Well, thank you sirs. Thank you very much.” The relief was evident in her voice, and she turned to smile at Kili in gratitude, earning an earnest smile back.

 

The walk was amiable, now and then one of the brothers would say something to get them to laugh, or they’d hum some tune she couldn’t recognize. It was uneventful walk, save for a few stumbles and hills to clamber over.

 

They were very understanding of her strange circumstances, leaving the obvious and most odd questions for another time and only asking questions to help discern where her memory failed and where it held strong. Anything about where she came from, what she did, and who she was seemed empty somehow, drained away save for broad understandings.

 

“What do we call you?” Fili was the one to ask.

 

“Uhm, I, I don’t know. Nothing comes to mind that I’ve been called before.” She felt pitiful.

 

“That’s no good. How about we give you a name to use until you can remember your old one? Dwarves have multiple names after all.” Kili suggested from behind.

 

“Marla?” Fili said, before immediately discarding it.

 

“Souna?”

 

“Bramli?”

 

“Glamli?”

 

“Elen?”

 

“Lena?”

 

Nearly overwhelmed, she stuttered negatives until Kili spoke up, almost hesitatingly.

 

“What about Elya?”

 

The name left a small silence between them all, because the moment it was spoken it seemed like she had never been called anything else.

 

“Elya.” she whispered, letting the night breeze take it from her. “Elya.”

 

“Nice name.” Fili commented, and she got the impression that Kili was proud, but embarrassed. It didn’t sound like the others they had thrown out, possibly dwarf names? She wondered where Kili had heard it, and why he said it so quietly, but she stayed silent, turning it over in her mind.

 

It took barely an hour for them to reach the outer fences of a small town, Hobbiton, as Kili said. It was a quiet place, a sweet smelling place as every...hobbit hole was covered in greenery and a small river wound its way directly through it. Elya kept Fili’s cloak tight around her chest, knowing instinctively that a barely dressed woman stumbling into a quaint place like this would be clear signs of trouble.

 

The brothers had had directions to the ...Bag End place they were going, and they found it with little trouble, the noise of several loud people from inside barreled out the window.

 

“See, only a little late, probably earlier than Thorin at any rate!” Fili crowed, opening the gate for her with a flourish.

 

Elya climbed the steps with a smile, taking in the sweetness of the garden outside. “Thorin?” she questioned, accepting Kili’s hand to help her up the rest. Her poor bare feet had taken quite the beating, bloodied and sore they were.

 

“The most direction-less dwarf you will ever meet, but that’s basically his only failing.” Kili beamed at her.

 

They knocked on the door in tandem, painted a bright green with a small glowing symbol on it. Elya wondered if it was the mark of the owner of the house, but stood between the two brothers and tried to swallow her nerves and give the brightest face she could.

 

A small creature opened the door, a small, rather annoyed creature. He fumed, glowering in irritation at the sight on his doorstep.

 

“Fili and Kili-” “A-and Elya!” “--at your service!” Fili and Kili kept an arm around her back as they bowed, and she bowed along with them. The hood of Fili’s cloak lifted and fell over her face, entirely too large for her head.  

 

“You must be Mister Boggins!” Kili beamed at him.

 

Elya coughed, “Baggins.”

 

“Baggins!” Kili copied almost immediately afterwards with just as much cheer.

 

“No! Nope, I have entirely too many dwarves already!” Mr. Baggins refused, shaking his head so hard his fluffy hair flew about his face. “You’ll have to go somewhere else--” he tried to close the door, but a suddenly concerned Kili stuck his foot in the way.

 

“What, is it canceled?” he asked, frowning.

 

“Nobody told us.” Fili muttered under his breath, craning his neck around the edge of the door to peer in. Rather rudely, in Elya’s opinion but she said nothing. She was still getting over how small the hobbit was.

 

“Aha!” came a voice from within, with a bit of a brogue to it, “It’s the lads! Fili! Kili! Come in, laddies, help us with the pantry!” He was another dwarf, like the brothers, and he wore a very comfy looking hat. He also had a most spectacular gravity-defying moustache.

 

“Bofur!” Kili cried, entering past the flustered hobbit and embracing the other.

 

Fili let her through before him, and Elya passed a commiserating smile to poor Mr. Baggins, who seemed entirely about to give up.

 

“Oh, and who’s this?” Bofur asked, looking her up at down. He smiled at her, and she was pleased to find him a kindly looking man.

 

“Elya. These two came to my rescue this night.” She stuck her hand out of the folds of Fili’s cloak. Bofur raised his eyebrows but took her hand anyways, bowing over it to kiss the knuckles instead of shaking it like she was expecting. The action made her smile.

 

“Oh, yes, about that. Excuse me, Mr. Baggins, could I trouble you for a few extra clothes? Miss Elya here has found herself...uhm…” Fili asked for her, flushing and unable to come up with a suitable way to describe it.

 

“Sorry, yes,” Elya turned away from Bofur to bow slightly to the hobbit, as this was his house, “I’m sorry to trouble you, Mr. Baggins, but I’m very close to naked. Could you spare some extra, old, or frayed clothes for me? I don’t wish to offend.”

 

Master Baggins, bless him, blushed from the roots of his hair down into his shirt. “Of course, Miss, this way, I’ll take you to my mother’s wardrobe. Take what you like.”

 

Elya went to follow, but paused, casting a look at Fili and Kili. They waved her on, disarming themselves and leaving their weapons in a pile by the door.

 

Bofur nodded to her, “go on, lass, I’ll save you a seat.” and she was gone after the hobbit.

 

When she disappeared, Bofur turned on his heel slowly, giving the two dwarvish princes a _look_.

 

“What?” Kili protested, “We found her in the roots of a tree. She can’t remember a single thing about herself and she was practically frozen and alone.”

 

“Yes,” Fili came to his rescue, “and, she has dwarvish runes tattooed on her arm. Said she had never seen them there before, but it’s no dialect I can read.”

 

“A strange wee naked girl found in the roots of a tree with dwarvish script tattooed onto her arm. You find her and bring her here where Thorin plans to discuss our... top secret…. journey.” Bofur didn’t say anything, but he did imply.

 

“It is weird, isn’t it?” Kili muttered, wandering off and leaving Fili to deal with this. He felt slightly embarrassed, but for no reason he could pinpoint. Running into Dwalin, he quickly forgot about it.

 

Fili just gave Bofur a ‘what-can-you-do’ face, and followed his brother, entering the hubbub of dwarvish activity with great aplomb. Bofur shrugged and let things be. She seemed like a nice girl, unfortunately small and hairless, but he didn’t sense anything wrong about her.

 

For her part, Elya was trying to not offend the little hobbit who was being so kind.

 

“Are you alright?” She asked, spying him pinching the bridge of his noise following a great loud bang from the hall.

 

Bilbo, as he had introduced himself, just gave her a tight smile. “Just a surprise dinner party of dwarves who have pillaged my pantry and home, no, I’m fine.” Ohh, that’s probably as aggressive as the fellow got, she’d better let it lie.

 

“Okay, so in here I can change and wash a bit of this dirt off?” she queried about what looked like a possible bedroom.

 

“Oh, yes, here,” he went to a large dresser drawers and dug out a wrapped bundle from the bottom. It was a deep blue, with green edges and a lovely cream shirt. A dress.

 

“This was my mother's,” Bilbo said, handing it to her. Elya nearly dropped it.

 

“Oh goodness sir, I couldn’t! It’s your mother's. I would be happy with a, a, tunic or whatever else you have.”

 

“No, no, it wouldn’t be proper. This is for you, put it on. It would gather dust and moths anyways.” Bilbo smiled at her, tired but so generous at the same time, and pointed out the wash basin.

 

Humming when the hobbit left, Elya felt the cloth of the dress and was pleased with its softness. Bilbo’s mother had good taste too, as the dress hung well-tailored, though loose on her, and the colors were pleasing against her skin.

 

Taking a deep breath, Elya let it out slowly as she stood in front of the basin, looking down into the bowl and eyeing the way her brown hair fell, and the blue of her eyes. It was odd. She couldn’t recognize herself. Was this what she always looked like? Small nose, full lips, thick eyebrows, and the evidence of freckles around her eyes?

 

She didn’t know, but washing felt wonderful, even with the cold water. Another look at the writing on her arm, Elya frowned as she followed it with her finger. It was heavy, thick stocky lines, much like the shapes of the dwarves themselves. She couldn’t tell what it said. Nor could she remember if she had it before, or if it just...showed up.

 

Sighing, she went about patting her hair down, running her fingers through and trying to freshen up. Her finger stuck on something round, and she winced. Finding it within the waves of her hair, Elya blinked at the small braid hidden at the back of her neck, with a small, beautiful bead at the end. It shone lovely with the light of a white gem, as though it has starlight captured within.

 

She stared at it in awe for a second, almost feeling the importance of it in her hand, but a knock on the door surprised her.

 

“Miss Elya?” it was Kili, “We have a great meal on the table, if you want some you should probably get a move on.”

 

What a dear.

 

Elya smoothed the skirt of the dress, still barefoot though she could do nothing but be thankful she had time to wash the dirt and blood off them.

 

Opening the door, Elya beamed at Kili. He smiled back, eyes skittering around her dress in approval.

 

“You look better!” he said, before stumbling, “Well, not that you looked bad before, but you seemed cold and well, um, uncomfortable.” He cut himself off when Elya let herself laugh at him.

 

“I feel better, thank you Mr. Kili. Could you tell me what this is? It looks important, sort of like the beads in Fili’s beard.” Elya reached up and pulled her hair aside to reveal the shining white bead, bending her neck aside to show him. This caused Kili to swallow rather hard, faced with the slim stretch of her pale neck, but when his eyes caught the light of the gem, he paused, frozen. He leaned in close, one hand coming up to hover around the bead.

 

“It’s shining.” He murmured, engrossed. He leaned in further and only caught himself in the act when Elya flushed and ducked her face away, keeping still so the stone remained in his vision. Kili cleared his throat, ducking his own head bashfully.

 

“It’s beautiful, where did you get it?” he asked, the significance of the braid eluded him, as it had no discerning markers like iron would be for a battle trophy, or jade for great travels. The white bead also threw him, as it shone in his memory like the most beautiful stone. It never crossed his mind to take it from her, as it was as strange and out of place as the woman itself.

 

“I don’t know, I think it came along with the markings.” She shook her arm, frowning. Placing the braid back into the mass of her hair, Elya followed Kili to where he pulled out a seat for her, at a long table literally filled with dwarves.

 

They were loud, cheerful, and distracted by the food and drink before them. Bofur, Fili, and one on her left who she was told was called Bombur were the first to realize she had joined them, nodding to her and handing her an overfilled plate.

 

“Oh, thank you sirs.” Elyan smiled, suddenly caught by how hungry she was.

 

“No need for sirs, or Misters, Miss Elya,” Fili smiled at her, knocking her tankard with is own, “our names are fine.”

 

“Then please, use mine as well.” Elya accidentally caught eyes with a very young looking dwarf, one with a beard mostly on his neck than his face. He startled, then blushed, looking down onto his plate. What a cutie.

 

“Ori,” Kili said to her quietly, his voice lost underneath the boisterousness of the rest. “The one next to him with the two braids is Dori his older brother, and the one skulking behind him is Nori, the middle brother.”

 

“Ori, Dori, and Nori.” She mimicked, trying to fix their names with the shapes of their hair and faces. Dori kept a close eye on Ori, and seemed to ignore Nori in the back who sat somewhat separated from the table, but still laughing and yelling along.

 

Her eye then caught on the next, a large intimidating dwarf whose forearms were larger than her thighs. “Dwalin,” Kili provided, leaning in so she could hear him. She hid her investigating eyes behind her food.

 

“He’s the younger brother of Balin, the oldest dwarf here.” Kili nodded over to the white bearded dwarf, sitting quietly near the end.

 

“You’ve met Bofur, his brothers are Bombur,” The largest person she had ever seen, “and Bifur,” a dwarf who had...an axe in his head?!

 

Kili snickered at her wide eyed look, filling his own mouth with food and talking through it. “He can only speak Khuzdul, the dwarf language, and in hand gestures now. Great fighter though.”

 

Moving on, Kili waved a hand at a dwarf with a trumpet sticking out of his ear, which actually was being filled with ale by Dwalin, to the raucous laughter of the table. “That’s Oin,” Kili laughed heartily when Oin blew the ale out over the food, “He’s deaf, and Gloin’s older brother.” Gloin was red headed and red bearded, still intent on eating his share.

 

“Then there’s you and Fili, the two young ones.” Elya confirmed. Just then the dwarves called for ale, and counted down. Kili held up his tankard and encouraged her to do the same, knocking them all together and then silence fell as every single dwarf started to drink until their tankards were empty.

 

Elya simply sipped, casting her eyes down the table where a man, a tall man compared to the dwarves, sat smoking on a pipe and glowering out from behind his eyebrows. He looked old, but the kind of old that disguised his true age.

 

“Gandalf,” Kili nearly burped in her ear, as the rest of the table made their burps competition. “The Grey Wizard.”

 

“A wizard.” she said lowly, ducking away when his piercing eyes seemed drawn to her voice. It was intimidating, even though he was sitting on the other end of the table he seemed to take up a great deal of space. Bilbo flitted in and out behind him, still panicking slightly.

 

Kili threw a companionable around her shoulders, and she was shocked by how warm he was. Elya had thought the heat she felt was just the small room with so many within it, or the dress, or coming in from outside naked. But no, the press of Kili on her right and Bombur on her left, who was making room for Fili to join, told her that it was just the dwarves whose bodies ran hot.

 

“Come now dear brother, you’re hogging the girl all to yourself.” Fili grinned at her, shuffling onto their bench and pressing her close between them. The dinner seemed to be running down now, as only Bombur and a few others were still eating. The rest drank.

 

“And if I am?” Kili challenged, eyes twinkling. They were mischievous, these two, Elya thought, slightly worried.

 

“I’d say share, we are both her saviors I’ll have you mind.” Fili prodded her plate closer to her without a word, obviously suggesting she eat more. She had almost been far too distracted to eat, but took her crackers and cheese to make him happy.

 

“Her saviors now? Where did you find a lass like that in these parts?” Dwalin boomed, large and scary, eyeing her with no small amount of distrust.

 

“Aye,” Fili raised his voice to capture more of the table’s attention, “found her we did, grown into the heart of a tree. Had to cut her out of the roots, no way could she have gotten in, they were all thick and strong in the dirt.”

 

Several voices called out rebuttals, shocked noises, and interest. In the confusion, Elya felt a sudden stillness coming from Gandalf’s corner of the table and fought not to look his way.

 

Terrified of being the center of everyone's attention, Elya nearly disappeared beneath Kili’s arm. Although slightly uncomfortable and embarrassed to have him hold her like this, he was still keeping her afloat amid so many voices, and gentle about it too. There was strength in his arm.

 

“Yes, yes,” Kili interrupted, wanting in on the tale, “there’s dwarvish written on her arm, and a beaded braid in her hair. And!” he tried to finish amid the questions and hollering, “no memory to speak of!”

 

“Can’t remember anything?” Dwalin’s distrust grew into suspicion, as did some of the other dwarves. Though, none of them looked particularly worried, she was barely as thick as their arms let alone a danger to them.

 

Suddenly worried she would be thrown out the door to scramble on her own, Elya straightened her back and interjected, “Nothing. Not even my name.”

 

“But you said your name was Elya?” Bofur asked, head leaned on an arm in fascination with her story.

 

“Kili gave me that name.” Elya flushed, aware of said dwarf’s closeness and of his own flush of embarrassment, “I like it.”

 

“You named her _that_?!” one of the dwarves barked out with a laugh, and they were all lost in the seeming hilarity of it all. Elya didn’t get it, but from the uncomfortable shifting beside her, Kili apparently did.

 

“I would like to see the writing and the bead, if I can interject.” came a deep voice, rolling and dark as the night. Gandalf sat in a cloud of pipe smoke, face lit up by the embers. He struck a mysterious figure, and as frightened as she was, she nodded.

 

“Then let's get this all cleaned up lads,” said the oldest looking dwarf, with a perfectly sculpted white beard. Balin, if she remembered. “No need to leave such a mess to Master Baggins.”

 

“Aye!” was the chorus, and the dwarves set about throwing things around and giving Bilbo a heart attack. Kili helped her free herself from the bench, and Elya felt him pat her back comfortingly before she was drawn to Gandalf’s tall form in the hallway.

 

“Come this way, my dear, we don’t want to get in the way of the dwarves’ special brand of trouble making.” he told her, gentle and gruff, like bark covered in moss.

 

Elya could only nod, following him and listening to the dwarves start singing and playing music in the background. “Put that back! No, that’s my grandmother’s best china!” Poor Bilbo was running from one dwarf to another, attempting to rescue his dishes.

 

“--that’s what Bilbo Baggins hates!” the dwarves sang happily, and then Elya’s attention was captured by Gandalf making her sit in a small chair by the fire in the parlor.

 

“So, Miss Elya.” he started, sitting before her and seeming to try to make himself as less-big as possible. He obviously had experience with small creatures. “Were the two princelings right? You were drawn from the roots of a tree?”

 

‘Princelings?’ she thought, but answered despite her confusion, “Yes. I woke up a few hours ago, beneath the cages of a tree’s roots. It’s only luck that Kili and Fili were to walk by me, or I would be there still.”

 

“Luck…” Gandalf copied, watching her with his wise eyes, “Perhaps.”  He held out his hands, and she realized he wanted to see her arm.

 

The script looked dark and alien in the firelight, and she was surprised it didn’t feel heavy.

 

“There are few tongues of man, dwarf, elf, or beast that I do not know. And yet, this refuses to be read.” Gandalf hummed, turning her arm gently. “It may not yet be time, or it may not by my eyes to read it, but it does resemble dwarvish, if only the most ancient of its written languages.”

 

“You cannot read it?” She asked, disappointed despite herself. There was a sudden cease of dish noise in the kitchen, now only laughter rang out. She turned her head and pulled the beaded braid out from beneath it, just short enough to hide in the mass of messy hair she called hers. “And this?” It shone in her palm, sparkling. Gandalf's eyebrows rose at the sight, but he didn’t reach to touch it or anything like Kili did.

 

Humming again, Gandalf suddenly leaned closer, looking deep into her eyes as if he was attempting to read words on the back of her head. “No memory indeed. Do not attempt to scratch at that wall between you and the past, at least not until I have you somewhere where your safety can be well kept.” The color of his eyes seemed bleached out, piercing and powerful.

 

That unnerved her, “W-what? What do you mean?” But she knew what he meant. The strange white pulsing empty space that existed where she knew once there was a lifetime of memory, where it seemed drained and empty, like something was pulled away with gentle yet firm hands. Would she be harmed if she tried too hard to press on it?

 

“You will be my companion along with this company,” he offered her instead, smiling to put her at ease. “You will be in no more danger than if you were to remain here in the Shire. I will take you to Imladris, and there we will find out your truth for you, and quite possibly for our dwarves as well.”

 

“I would suggest, my dear,” he spoke lowly, “that you keep that jewel in your hair hidden. There’s no telling who may see it, and even then, what they may do.” The look in his eyes was serious and unreadable, and while she didn’t understand a thing she nodded.  

 

“Gandalf?” came a voice from the door, Bilbo stood there, about to ask something. He eyed the way Gandalf sat, bending over her to see as close as he could into her soul. But before they could, a loud, solid knock came from the door.

 

Gandalf leaned back in his chair, voice unreadable as he said, “He is here.”

 

‘He’ turned out to be the most regal looking dwarf she had seen yet. He stepped in like he owned the whole house, and Elya could tell that riled the hobbit up the wrong way. Gandalf introduced him, as “Thorin Oakenshield.”

 

“I lost my way, twice.” Thorin said as she came up, and he handed off his cloak to her without even looking. A little offended to be treated like a housemaid, Elya decided to let it rest as the large dwarf started in on poor Bilbo, calling him a grocer rather than a burglar. Now, Elya had next to no knowledge of hobbits or dwarves or whatever reason they all seemed to congregate in a hobbit hole, but she knew that that was just rude.

 

Bilbo thought so too. He huffed and sputtered and probably would have said something passive aggressive if Gandalf had not interrupted.

 

Then, the dwarves filed away to feed Thorin and talk, and Elya was left with a dwarf’s cloak in her hands and more questions than answers.

 

Sighing, she went and hung up the cloak and fussily tried to straighten the rows of weapons and cloaks and travel bags in Bilbo’s front hall. Mostly, she didn’t want to go back to the table, not if Thorin would look at her the same way he looked at Bilbo.

 

Fili seemed to have anticipated her though, and he caught her just as she was thinking of reorganizing Bilbo’s doilies.

 

“Doing alright?” he asked, his eyes softer here alone rather than under the eyes of his fellow dwarves. He also seemed to anticipate what she was feeling, and that was overwhelmed, alone, and pathetic.

 

Elya only shrugged, eyes skittering back to where the company sat in Bilbo’s hallway, where Thorin sat with so much presence she felt like a bug.

 

“He’s a little intimidating, but he won’t hurt you. If we show him your arm, he’ll be interested.”

 

“Do you say that because you’re curious to know what it says?” She tried to tease him, eyes dropping to the arm in question. She couldn’t read it either, and she wondered if anyone else felt like they didn’t belong in their own body. Was this her? What was her name? Who is she and why, why is she here?

 

His grin revealed a sheepish ‘yes,’ and Fili patted her shoulder, his hand just as warm and rough as his brother’s. “Gandalf said nothing?”

 

Elya sighed, following his prodding towards the company, where most had cracked open pipes or a last ale while they waited for Thorin to eat his fill. “No, he couldn’t read it either. He says I have to come along with him for the journey to find someone who can.”

 

“Ahh, so we will be travel companions!” Fili grinned, shoving Bifur aside to slip them by into the darkened room.

 

“Seems like.” Elya sighed, thanking Bofur quietly as he pulled out part of the seat for her to slip onto, across from Kili this time. Fili continued on to join his brother, and eventually she came to realize that Thorin was staring at her.

 

She turned and looked at his beard, unable to meet his eyes.

 

“The girl?” he asked gruffly, pushing away his cleaned plate.

 

“Found by your nephew’s beneath a tree. Her arm bears an unreadable tattoo in ancient dwarvish, and she holds no memories of her past.”

 

Thorin snorted, trading a look with Dwalin that Elya knew wasn’t in her favor. “And you believed her?” he sent down the table to his...his nephews? Well, she could see the resemblance, in Kili’s coloring and very much in Fili’s bearing.

 

“We do, Uncle.” Kili nodded, glancing at her, while Fili refused to drop his eyes from Thorin’s. Elya was impressed by the older brother’s poise, especially in the face of his Uncle’s disapproval.

 

“As do I, and she will be my travel companion rather than yours, so you need not expend your worry.” Gandalf seemed to put a close to it, moving on and distracting Thorin with what looked like a map. Elya nearly melted with relief now that those hard eyes had left her, and she lightly blew out her cheeks, catching eyes with Kili and trying not to laugh at his commiserating look.

 

Then, Gandalf produced from his robes a key, handing it over with great gravity to Thorin, who took it like it was worth more than the sun.

 

“If there’s a Key, there has to be a door.” Kili said, kicking someone in the knee when there was a quiet snort their end of the table. Apparently the map was unreadable, much like her arm, and if the twinkling of Gandalf’s eyes meant anything, he had an idea for why that was.

 

“A door.” Thorin whispered, awed.

 

After that there was much talk of a journey, a treasure hoard, and a dragon. A Dragon! She may not have her memories all that well, but she knew that dragons were probably not cuddly, kind creatures. Bilbo had much the same idea.

 

“I have never stolen anything in my life, let alone from a dragon!” He was puffing like he’d run a marathon.

 

And then there was talk of shares, and Bilbo was handed his burglar contract. “Evisceration? _Incineration_?!” it didn’t take too long for him to find the worst of his job responsibilities, and the dwarves around them weren’t going to make it easy for him.

 

“Think furnace with wings!” Bofur glibly continued, acting as though it was not turning the hobbit white with fear. “One quick puff and woosh! You’re nothing but a pile of ash!” Bilbo straightened and she hoped he had finally found the spine she didn’t have, but he turned to them, said “No.” and fell back onto his carpet in a dead faint.

 

“Oh, that’s helpful, Bofur.” Gandalf muttered, putting a hand to his head.

 

There was a moment of silence, before Balin sighed. “Well, that’s that.”

 

“Come on, help me get him into his armchair.” Bofur snickered, standing and attempting to get a hold of the hobbit.

 

Elya followed, brushing past Thorin without thinking. “Oh, gentle, be gentle. He’s had a rough day.”

 

“What’s a rough day for a burglar?” Nori snorted, holding Bilbo’s feet.

 

Elya rolled her eyes, “The kind of day where thirteen dwarves, a wizard, and a lost girl show up on his doorstep without notice and he’s told he’s supposed to steal from a fire breathing dragon, _while_ feeding them all, I might add.” The quiet dwarf just snickered. What Elya didn’t notice was Balin turning around in shock, wanting to ask her what exactly she meant, but he was called over by Dwalin to pour over the map a bit more. Elya rushed to get a cup and scrounged for some tea for the poor hobbit.

 

When he got sat down in his comfy fireside seat, Bilbo came to with a bit off yelp. He sat unhappily, as the dwarfs left, most of them laughing at him.

 

He did thank her when she handed him the tea she had managed to find in one of his cupboards, and she sat to give him some company, as the dwarves seemed to be busy...wrestling. Or something.

 

“It’ll be alright Bilbo. It’s all a shock, and I don’t think anyone would blame you if you didn’t want to come.” Elya patted Bilbo’s knee.

 

He just gave her a weak, forced smile, and she left him to Gandalf. Taking the moment in the hall, as the dwarves seemed busy elsewhere, though just as loud as ever, Elya looked again at the tattoo on her arm.

 

What did she remember? White. Loud noises. A kind of dull softness to everything, and the sense of distance, of time passing.

 

Perhaps she had been born with the tattoo, and even then, what did that mean?

 

There was a scuff and she’s surprised when Thorin, the King under the Mountain, reaches forward and takes her arm with a firm but gentle hand. He looks at the writing, and for a moment she thinks he knows what it says, but when he looks up at her he’s asking for an explanation.

 

“Woke up with it.” She replies to his unasked question. “I truly don’t know anything about it.” He weighed her, eyes dark and unbelieving.

 

“As you are not part of my company I have no need of you.” Thorin started, and she winced slightly at his bluntness, though she couldn't really be surprised. “However, as you have been present for several top secret discussions, not by my wish might I add,” he sent a dark glare over to where Gandalf sat talking with Bilbo, “I cannot in good conscience let you wander with such information. Keep yourself out of the way of my men and my mission, stick by Gandalf and listen to his every word. None of mine will be responsible if you should come to harm in this venture.”

 

Elya swallowed, feeling slightly sick and all of a sudden aware of how large and strong he was. Strong enough to break her. “Am I at risk then…” Elya nearly stuttered, “From you, or your company?” She worried he may react strongly to this, and tensed in preparation. Amnesiac though she was, she was not naive.

 

A muscle flexed in his jaw, and he released her arm. She folded it back to herself, keeping it tight up under her breasts. He tilted his head slightly in apology.

 

“Not from us, Miss. Forgive me if I gave you that impression. Dwarves are many things, but cruel towards women, we are most definitely not.” Thorin backed a respectful step and then turned, drawing Dwalin along with him towards the fireplace. The Dwarves seemed to be congregating, and now feeling abysmally out of place, Elya stayed awkwardly in the hall sitting on a mud covered box.

 

Thorin could be frightening, and honestly she had never entertained the idea of being hurt or treated badly by his men. The dwarves were all kind to her, Kili and Fili and Bofur especially, and none seemed the type to harm frail girls. But the reality of her situation was sinking in.

 

She was lost, with no memories, no items or goods with her, no experience in keeping herself safe, and utterly, utterly dependent on the kindness and generosity of those within this small home. She didn’t even have shoes, and she doubted Bilbo had any, what with his feet looking so sturdy.

 

How utterly overwhelming. She sat for a long time, hands covering her face and breathing as slowly as she could to rid herself of the panic welling in her gut.

 

Elya thought she may have been hearing something, a deep rumble of the earth -- perhaps an earthquake? -- before she realized it was the dwarves humming in the room next to her. It resonated deep in her bones, and the white space in her mind gave a gentle, warm pulse. It felt like everything slowed down so she could hear them better, her heart beat falling to normal pace and her ears blocking out anything else.

 

“Far over, the Misty Mountains cold,

 

To dungeons deep, and Caverns old”

 

It was the dwarf exile-king, Thorin, singing so low and sadly that she felt grief constrict her heart. He had such meaning to him, such weight of years and experience, and his voice, smooth and low, reflected it.

 

“We must away, ere break of day,

 

To reach our long forgotten gold.”

 

From the shadows flickering in from the fire, Elya surmised that the thirteen dwarves were settled, and still, and a great need welled within her to see them. She stood, silent as the grave, and approached the doorway. Sticking to the shadows, Elya pressed herself to the arch of it, eyes drinking in the gravity of the song, and of the reverence of the dwarves. Some stood, paying their respects.

 

“The pines were roaring, on the height

 

The winds were moaning in the night”

 

That was Bofur, sitting with his back to her. Around him, his kin stood. Bombur stared into the fire. Bifur crossed to the window. Elya’s eyes were drawn to Dwalin, who stood with his arms crossed, solemn and unmovable in the low light.

 

“The fire was red, it flaming spread,

 

The trees like torches, blazed with light”

 

Something about it rung within her, deep inside. Even as they seemed to end, slipping into quiet, their voices hung in the air. The deepness of their voices, the hurt, the grief in the older ones eyes, and the quiet sadness in the younger ones. Fili stood as well, near his brother and his uncle, watching the fire with a look of resignation. Elya wondered if he was old enough to remember Erebor, or if he felt the pain of his family and his race.

 

Still as she was by the door, in the darkness of the hall, Kili seemed to seek her out, eyes piercing through the shadows to find her. Swallowing, Elya wondered at herself, and at him. He was attractive yes, but that wasn’t it. He was the one to name her in this world. The first voice she heard.

 

How did she wake just as the right time to catch him and his brother coming her way?

 

“Get some sleep. We wake at dawn.” Thorin decreed, and the dwarves spread out rolls and blankets out on the ground.

 

A hand touched her shoulder, and Elya jumped. It was Gandalf, standing tall and hunched over her, too tall for the home.

 

“You were provided the guest room, my dear, second door on the right.” He waved her down the hall, “Have a good sleep, and appreciate the bed as long as you can. You won’t see another for half a month.” His eyes twinkled at her, and she decided she liked him, regardless of his mystery and confusing way of speaking. On her way she passed Bilbo’s room, where he sat curled up and distracted, staring into the candlelight and looking as awestruck as she felt.

 

The room was small, well furnished, and quiet. She undressed, folding Bilbo’s mother’s clothes as best she could and crawled into bed naked as she was born.

  
In the dark, she touched at the jewel in her hair, turning to see it in the corner of her eye. It was dim, in the night, but still shone enough that she wondered what it could possibly be made of. With a sigh, and a yawn, despite only being awake a few short hours, Elya fell asleep to the sounds of the Shire.

 


	2. Trollshaw

The morning was slow to wake her, and eventually it took a few small taps at her door from Gandalf to usher her out of the bed. It was comfortable like nothing she’s ever felt before, and in getting dressed in the hobbit clothing again, Elya made a note to herself to somehow manage to afford clothes that fit better.

 

“Ah there you are. I have procured this with Bilbo’s permission,” Gandalf found her outside in the hall, holding out a fairly small, but still packed, bag and bedroll. “I’m told he had it lying around from when he was a young fauntling, traipsing around the Shire with his mother.”

 

“Oh,” She held it, blinking at such generosity. “I must find a way to pay him back.” She muttered, still half asleep.

 

“I believe you will have plenty time to do so on this coming journey!” Gandalf winked at her and left the hobbit hole, where she could hear the low talk of dwarves and noise of many horses, or ponies, in this case. Elya took a deep breath, putting the bag on her back. It took one step outside for her to realize that she was still barefoot, and since her little feet had none of the protections of a hobbit, Elya was in a crisis.

 

She asked Balin if he happened to have a strip of cloth or leather she could tinker around with for possible shoes. He said no, but a nearby Nori grunted and dug something out of his own pack. It was a long strip of cloth that looked suspiciously like Bilbo’s front drapes.

 

A quick look told her that yes, one side of his kitchen window was bare while the other hung cloth exactly like that which was in her hands. Glancing back at Nori, who merely smirked at her, waiting for some sort of reaction, Elya weighed her options. Eventually she sighed, and silently apologized to Bilbo and whatever ancestor had given him the drapes, folding it to judge how well it will act wrapped around her feet. Nori snickered, and climbed aboard a pony.

 

“Here you are, Elya,” Fili said to her, leading two ponies, “This one is yours.” He handed her the reins to a lovely grey one, smiled, and mounted his own. She took careful notice of how he did so, and thus when she climbed aboard the grey pony, she only made a slight fool of herself, instead of a whole one.

 

“Never ridden?” the blonde dwarf asked cheerfully, far too cheerfully for the time of the morning she thought.

 

“Not that I remember,” she replied faux-cheerfully, and his smiled turned into a bit of a grimace at the reminder that yes, she still had no memories.

 

The pony was docile though, and seemed aware that her rider had few intentions of actually commanding her to do things. So, the grey mare just stuck by her siblings, the ponies Fili and Dwalin rode, largely ignoring the light weight atop her back.

 

They left in a long line of pony and dwarf, with Gandalf and Thorin in the lead. Upon finding her pony absolutely capable of following on her own, Elya turned her attention to the cloth, and with a little help from Fili’s knife, managed to fold them around her feet so that at least they were wrapped. It wouldn’t hold for long, she thought, but it would last until she could manage to get proper shoes of her own.

 

“Not a chance, he’s far too attached to that lovely hole of his.” Dori was saying to Ori, and eventually the other dwarves started calling out wagers.

 

“I think it’ll be a day until he catches up!” Bofur called.

 

Gandalf chuckled, “Not even until mid-morning, Master Bofur.”

 

“The halfling won’t come, the perils of the road are too much for one such as him.” Thorin said, loud enough to be heard though he rode at the front.

 

“Five pieces says you’re wrong!”

 

“Five that he’s right!”

 

And it continued until Elya clued in that this was a good time to gain some money.

 

“How about just before lunch, and an extra piece if he’ll immediately want to go back for something he forgot.” She called out, remembering the look on the hobbit’s face the night before.

 

“Aye!”

 

Kili and Fili gave her matching grins, somehow managing to ride on either side of her.  

 

“Do you know if you can use any kind of weapon?” Fili asked companionably, currently flipping a small knife around his fingers.

 

“Fee prefers knives and twin swords. I’m best with a bow but not too shabby with a sword myself.” Kili chimed in, puffing up a bit to make her smile.

 

Elya shook her head, “I have no knowledge of it, but maybe it’s instinctual.”

 

Fili offered her his knife with a “see what happens?” sort of look.

 

With a little trepidation, Elya took it, one part of her concentrating on staying on the pony and the other a little worried that she’d make a fool of herself and cut off a finger or something. The knife was small, yet still too thick for her fingers to hold it comfortably. It had a wide blade, just as most things about dwarves were wide, and weighed a decent amount.  

 

“No, no, no,” Kili interjected, “don’t hold it like that, hold it like this.” And he demonstrated with his own knife, that she never noticed him grabbing. He changed the way her fingers held the hilt, and showed her how to hold it in a ready position. It felt even more uncomfortable.

 

Fili snorted at her.

 

“Oh shush,” Elya felt like she may be blushing, but ignored it to throw them both a dirty look, “It’s clear I don’t know what I’m doing.”

 

They passed a few hours like that, and just as someone began complaining for lunch, there came a piping voice from behind them, “Wait! Wait!”

 

It was Bilbo. Balin checked his signature and found it solid. Thorin was too royal to roll his eyes but it was there in the tone of his voice when he ordered the hobbit be given a pony.

 

With matching grins, Bofur and Bifur yanked him up bodily to be up on a pony, and the poor hobbit seemed utterly stunned.

 

And then, the wagers went flying. Elya ducked and laughed at them all, thanking Bofur when he simply handed her her own money pouch. Gleeful, Elya shook it at Bilbo with a beaming smile, listening to the coin jingle within.

 

Bilbo, a little embarrassed but also slightly pleased by half the company’s belief in him, quickly found he was allergic to pony hair.

 

“Wait, wait! We have to stop!” he called out in a fluster, “We have to go back! I forgot my handkerchief!”

 

There was a chorus of groans punctured by Elya’s triumphant laugh. Every dwarf surrendered another coin, and it made its way back down to Elya, who dropped them all into the same pouch she had been given. Giving Kili a playful smirk, Elya slipped the purse into her shirt, keeping it safer than if it were in a bag easily lost. She looked to Bilbo, missing Kili’s pink cheeks and Fili’s snicker, and apologized.

 

“Sorry, Master Baggins, I knew you would forget something. But, now I have money for shoes!” she beamed, finding the day to be a rather good one.

 

“Ah yes, I suppose that’s…” Bilbo trailed off, eyes locked on her feet, “Are those my kitchen drapes?” He didn’t sound angry, more confused to find great aunt Bertha’s handmade cloth wrapped around dainty white feet.

 

Nori, ahead of them but obviously listening in, roared with laughter.

 

Flushing, Elya cleared her throat. “I don’t know, are they?” Nearly immediately she started a conversation with Kili to get out of explaining to the hobbit that yes, she wore his drapes and no, she actually didn’t steal them herself.

 

And so it went. Elya soon learned that she had little muscle at all, and all muscle that she had was sore from days on a pony’s back. Sleeping was hard too, on the ground with only a layer of cloth between her and whatever lived in the dirt. The brothers Durin only laughed when she whined about not knowing what was crawling all over her during the night.

 

She made a point to avoid both Thorin and Dwalin, only to obediently do what they asked of her, and doing whatever else she could do to help make or break camp. She could only really bring in kindling, she couldn’t move as much wood as the other dwarves, she was a fair cook’s helper and did the dishes. She was never chosen for watch duty, and while she wanted to argue that she could do anything they could, reality set in and she acquiesced. Not only would Thorin not want a mystery lost girl watching over their vulnerable sleeping bodies, Elya didn’t think she could stay awake for so long at night.

 

Usually she slept nearby Kili and Fili, who were quickly becoming her closest friends on this venture. She also stayed by Bilbo as well, feeling a sort of kinship to the hobbit who felt just as out of place as she did. She listened to him without complaint, and learned along with him what made these dwarves tick. They were largely either ignored or tolerated by the other dwarves, Oin and Gloin possibly didn’t even know their names.

 

“I cannot understand her.” Thorin muttered to Dwalin, both of them watching the strange girl play with the princes and the halfling from the corner of their eyes. ‘Play’ meaning Bilbo was attempting to retrieve something of his that Fili and Kili were tossing between them in increasingly more difficult ways.

 

Elya had been giggling in the sidelines before she snuck up behind Kili and snatched the object, what looked like a button, from him and ran off with it calling for Bilbo.

 

And hence, the mish mashed game of tag that was going on around their camp tonight. Thorin wanted to snarl at them to keep it down, but from the looks of the rest of the company, indulgent and amused, it wasn’t much of a bother to them. Thorin just tensed at any new roaring laugh or girlish shriek that could potentially echo into the darkness and alert whatever evil stirred in these lands.

 

“Aye. She’s little more than an extra saddlebag. Keeps the prince's occupied though.” Dwalin said.

 

“I thought I had taught them to be more discerning.” Thorin grumbled, crossing his arms and wishing for his pipe.

 

Dwalin shrugged, “I don’t doubt they found her alone and lost. I wonder whether she knows if she’s a plant or not.”

 

“Do you think she is?”

 

Dwalin considered her, but eventually shrugged. “No. But it doesn’t hurt to keep an eye on her.”

 

Humming, Thorin returned to the fireside, content to ignore their female addition. He didn’t like the way the wizard was twinkling at him, though.

 

It was one night that they camped near a small creek, small, but enough clean water for a wash. Elya nearly squealed with joy upon seeing it, and as soon as she could, she went and stripped off as many layers as she could before cleaning whatever skin she could reach. She stunk after so many days on the road, and the cool water was a great relief.

 

What she didn’t notice, was the few dry mouths behind her, the wiggling eyebrows, and the elbows in guts. Kili in particular nearly fell on his face with the force of his brother’s sudden elbow, and they descended into sort of wrestling match. One who did notice, and who didn’t like it, was Thorin himself.

 

Grinning at Bofur, who tipped his hat to her in the process of getting water for the stew, Elya gathered her things and went to return to her bed roll. She was ambushed first, on the outskirts of the new firelight.

 

A dour shape in the twilight, Thorin sobered her mood like he always did, just with a small frown.

 

Thorin grimaced at her, “I will not have you distracting the men.”

 

She blinked. “Distracting how?”

 

“With your femininity. Travelling can become tiring and having a female of your kind so near may play with their sense of duty.”

 

‘ _Of your kind_.’ Elya’s eyebrows felt like they were going to disappear into her hair. “So it would be my fault? What could _I_ possibly do?” She felt a little shocked at his ire, suddenly realizing that her gender had been on his mind for a while now. Or perhaps, on all their minds. Mostly there was a small knot of resentment in her stomach, was this all from her washing in the stream? There hadn’t been any overtures from the rest of the company, and indeed, she never felt ogled at.

 

Thorin stomped closer, glowering down at her. “Do not give them reason.” He went to brush past her, but she stopped him in his tracks with a small, weak whisper.

 

“Would you say the same thing to your mother?” She looked at him from the side, angry enough she didn’t want to face him lest she either yell at him, or worse, burst out crying. “Or your sister?”

 

Thorin turned to look at her, perhaps to put her in her place again, but she left him standing there, taking the last word with her. Her hands shook.

 

Kili was the one to notice her bad mood, frowning and touching her arm lightly with the tips of his rough fingers. “You alright?” he asked, sweet as always under his brashness.

 

Elya’s mouth worked, and she took a deep breath to figure out what kind of emotions were going to splash out first. Instead she settled on exhaustion, arms and legs tired from their ride, and nodded, slumping into an unladylike ball. Her pout was evident, as well as the shininess of her eyes.

 

Kili cleared his throat, uncomfortable and yet earnest in his worry, “What happened? Uncle can be rude sometimes, try not to take it seriously.”

 

Elya shook her head, sighing. “It’s fine. I suppose I should have anticipated it. I am a _woman_ after all, I should have known I’d be a _distraction_.”

 

Behind her, Fili coughed, “You mean he...?” Grimacing, Elya nodded. He seemed to understand, giving her a look of mixed meanings.

 

Confused, Kili looked between her and his brother, “What? What does she being a woman have to do with it?”

 

“Oh sweet brother, so innocent.” Fili rubbed his fist into Kili’s hair roughly, dodging his retaliation with that special grace all big brothers seemed to have.

 

“We’ll be passing close by Bree tomorrow, lassie,” Balin interjected before a wrestling match could break out, “We can go in and get you what you’re going to need.” He cast a look at the nearly ruined cloth that wrapped her feet and she thanked him gratefully.

 

“We’ll go with you!” Kili volunteered, but was quickly shut down.

 

“No, you will not.” Thorin spoke from behind them all, walking as he did around the camp every night. He glowered at them, his nephews and then again, harder, at Elya. “Balin and the girl will go in alone, and the rest of us will pass by the town entirely. Bree is no place to stop on a good day.”

 

“I’d like to go,” Bilbo said nervously, “I can help carry supplies.” Thorin looked at him, up and down, and then nodded as though passing his judgement. He left them then, wrapping himself down for the night to eat and keep watch.

 

Elya grumbled under her breath, “Oh sometimes I’d just like to snatch his eyebrows right off.”

 

Fili raised his own eyebrows at her, “Really?” he asked, a little doubtfully, as if he couldn’t quite imagine the quiet and thin-limbed girl doing such. Elya glared at him, but then surrendered.

 

“Well, I’d think about it long and hard and stare at him so he’d somehow feel it.” She thanked Bifur for handing her her stew for the night. “He just makes me angry, and frustrates me with his lack of of...anything. Respect. Or kindness.”

 

“Well he is a king,” Kili said between spoonfuls, “Suppose they’re all like that?”

 

Elya sighed, giving up. “Yes, most likely. I am grateful he hasn’t just dumped my body somewhere, I suppose.”

 

Fili coughed on his soup, “He wouldn’t do that!” There was a piece of potato in his moustache.

 

Lips pressed together as tightly as she could to avoid laughing, Elya tried to not stare at it. It waggled with Fili’s every move. Elya made the mistake of catching eyes with Kili, and like a trigger it sent both of them into gales of laughter.

 

“What?” Fili asked, the potato moving with his words. “What?!” The night rang with their cheer.

 

Bree was less than spectacular. Although there were now men and women of ‘her own kind’ around her, Elya stuck close to Balin and Bilbo. These humans were just so tall, so big and dark and scary, that Balin’s white beard and Bilbo’s soft curls seemed so much more comforting.

 

With about half of her money, Elya got herself new boots, a pair of solid warm breeches to go under her skirts, a fairly warm, though old, jacket that went on over her dress, and a cloak of thick wool that weighed nearly as much as her whole travel bag. Bilbo, who had never seen Bree before, wrinkled his nose at the smell and eagerly waited for them to be out of there again, laden down with what supplies they needed. Elya did get several strange looks, as a dwarf sized woman, nearly childlike and in the company of a dwarf and a hobbit, but she did her best to ignore them.

 

All three breathed a sigh of relief when they managed to leave Bree behind, catching up to the rest of the company. Elya shared a look with Bilbo, and they silently agreed the rude, rough, and honorable dwarves were better than whatever kind of Men lived in such a town.

 

A few nights later, Elya laid peacefully by the fire and listened to Kili and Fili’s low voices on watch. Too over-tired to sleep, Elya listened when Bilbo got up, stretched, and sneakily fed Myrtle an apple he’d smuggled away. She had to smile at the hobbit’s sweetness.

 

A cry pierced the air, from a long distance away, and her eyes opened to see Bilbo mouth “What was that?!” to the brothers on guard.

 

Kili’s response was solemn. “Orcs.”

 

“Orcs?!” Bilbo squeaked a little louder than he probably should have, waking some of the company.

 

“Aye.” Fili pitched in darkly, “Throat-cutters. They attack small camps at night and leave no one alive.”

 

Bilbo swallowed and looked a bit ill. Elya wasn’t feeling much better. Suddenly the dark seemed so much more threatening.

 

And then Kili snickered, Fili grinned, and Bilbo relaxed in an instant with a glower. Pushing herself up onto an elbow, Elya turned and threw her own glare at the two of them. She was about to call them out on their meanness when Thorin beat her to it.

 

“You think a night raid by orcs is a joke?” He asked, voice full with disappointment and simmering anger.

 

“We didn’t mean anything by it.” And Elya knew they hadn’t, but poor taste was poor taste.

 

“No, you didn’t.” Thorin walked through them all, a tall figure in the moonlight. “You know nothing of the world.” The tossed words hit where they were meant to, and both Kili and Fili turned their shameful faces down.

 

Elya reached an arm out and patted the closest brother’s boot, Kili’s, and sadly smiled at him in forgiveness. They did deserve it, but it was probably a special kind of cruelty that Thorin was the one saying it.

 

“Don’t mind him laddie,” Balin stood by the back of the rock facing, “Thorin has more cause than most to hate orcs.”

 

And then came a story of such heartbreak and hurt that Elya felt bad for ever thinking Thorin selfish or rude. She supposed if she had the same background, she might act that way too. Not only to lose his home, Erebor, but to lose his grandfather in battle, his father gone missing, and a chance at a new home in Moria? She couldn’t imagine it, and she thought maybe all of them had lost someone there too.

 

The dwarves were standing again, the same reverence and respect in their backs as there was in Bilbo’s home during the Misty Mountains song.

 

“And that day, I saw one I could call king.” Balin finished with the same emotional awe in his voice as she could see in the rest of the dwarves. Thorin too, struck a majestic figure as he turned and looked back at his company with his head held high.

 

Now, maybe Elya could understand a bit more their mission and their drive than she had before.

 

“But, Azog?” Bilbo asked, “What happened to him?”

 

“That filth died of his wounds long ago.” Thorin commanded them all to return to sleep, and Elya laid back down again, closer this time to the fire and to her friends. She saw, without really understanding, Balin and Gandalf share a look, and her last thought before sleep claimed her was a desperate hope that yes, the pale orc who sounded so terrifying, was actually dead.  

 

When darkness and twilight had fallen, Elya would sit with Bifur learning to whittle. He would demonstrate a movement for her on his own piece of wood, and then hand them over to her to see how she would copy him. At times he would grunt and point a thick finger where she had messed up, or pat her knee and point where she had done well.

 

Elya, though finding the one sided conversation a little strange, found that Bifur could respond quite well without words or dwarven gestures if she was paying enough attention.

 

From across the fire, Bofur and Bombur traded great smiles, softened upon seeing the small beardless girl-child, who knew practically nothing at all of use, laugh and smile companionably with a dwarf many fled from. And indeed, since the injury Bifur wasn’t only just able to speak in chopped up sentences of Ancient Khuzdul, he was also more often absentminded, sometimes terribly blank in memory and behavior, and it was when he worked with his hands that most of his personality came back.

 

So, with her dedication to learn something new, wood carving from Bifur helped both her and him. She became more familiar with her hands and with them all as dwarves, and Bifur became more animated, more healed while they worked.

 

Elya sat with Bifur another night and was working up the courage to ask him. He had put a new block into her hands, traced the circle of a head on it with a stick of charcoal and proceeded to do the same on his block, carefully showing her the angle and turns her hands should be making.

 

She felt she had gotten better at using the tools, though the wood still didn’t look like much more than a hacked off piece of tinder.

 

“Bifur.” She started, hands pausing. She looked at him, at the softness of his eyes, and wondered why she had ever thought the axe was his most prominent feature.

 

He stopped, waiting, though his gaze never quite made it to hers.

 

“Does it...does it pain you?” She asked quietly, “Does it hurt?” Her glance made it clear what she was talking about, and he was still for a moment.

 

Then he warbled his hand in the air in front of himself, as if saying yes and no.

 

“Off and on?” She guessed. Bifur tilted his head, not quite nodding. She thought the axe was a heavy weight on the front of his head, and nodding probably made it pull or shift uncomfortably.

 

She frowned. “There’s nothing to do? No herbs, or pastes, or, or...something that can help?”

 

Bifur shuttered his eyes, and shook his head. The wild mane of his hair brushed her shoulder, and she likened it to the feeling of wire.

 

“I’m sorry.” Elya offered, turning the wood in her hands. “For it happening, and for bringing it up.” She quirked her lips at him in apology, and he patted her knee. His form of forgiveness. They went back to carving, or in her case, hacking. Unbeknownst to her, Bofur and Bombur were paying close attention.

 

They exchanged glances, bemused and softened by the small creature that spoke with such earnest sincerity. Even if she was some sort of ploy, or plot, they didn’t think it was of her own making. Nobody could appear with no memories, and no preconceived ideals like she did and still maintain their acting through days and nights of travel. She was just too genuine.

  
The next morning, Bofur patted the seat next to him and invited her to sit and eat breakfast. She did, though Bofur did notice the warning gazes from Dwalin and Kili, the young prince’s look of ‘don’t you hurt her’ contrasting greatly to the old warrior’s ‘don’t you trust her’. Bofur merely smiled at them both, utterly guileless, and inwardly snickered at how alike Kili was to his uncle, and how utterly unlike him he was as well.

 

Elya was helping Bombur dig out his root vegetables when Gandalf stormed out of the ramshackle remains of the farmhouse, face a dark thundercloud.

 

“Where are you going?” Bilbo called, unnerved.

 

“To surround myself with the only one with wisdom in this whole plain!” Gandalf ground out, climbing aboard his horse.

 

“Who’s that?”

 

“Myself, Master Baggins!” Gandalf snapped, “I’ve had enough of _dwarves_ for one evening.” and he left, without a backwards glance.

 

“Bombur get cooking,” Thorin ordered with a similar black look to where the wizard went, “We want to eat sometime tonight!” Elya blinked wide eyed at Bombur, who only shrugged and hung the pot over the fire.

 

The ambiance of the moment was ruined when Fili came stumbling back crying out, “Trolls! Trolls have Mister Bilbo!”

 

The dwarves jumped up in an instant, and it was only Thorin’s great booming voice that had them all mobilized.

 

“You stay here, lass, keep an eye on the camp.” Balin told her, pulling out his sword and following after the other dwarves without another word.

 

Left alone then, in the dark with an empty camp, Elya tried to wrap her mind around the rush of the last few minutes. It was like one instant everything was okay, and then the next, everything seemed so dire and warlike, and then now, everything was quiet.

 

She didn’t know what to do.

 

Elya paced first, from one side of camp to another. Then she looked out into the trees to see if she could see or hear anything. She thought she heard great bellows or the ring of steel before, but not now. She looked the other way, searching desperately for Gandalf.

 

After an indeterminable amount of time, Elya drew up her courage and stepped into the forest, following the neighing sound of ponies to the very end of where they were left, and then seeing, in the trees, a light.

 

Firelight.

 

Swallowing, Elya gathered up her skirts in her arms so she walked without trouble, taking each step as slowly as she could to not make noise.

 

“Here we are, roasted dwarf, my favorite!” one large great voice said, and it made Elya freeze.

 

Roasted dwarf?!

 

She inched closer, just a few trees back from the circle of light and she could see her companions being trussed up like pigs onto a stick, ready to set onto the fire. Three trolls, large, ungainly looking beasts, and one was shoving dwarves into sacks, another tended the fire, and a third was forcing Dwalin into position for spit-roasting.

 

Oh no.

 

 _Oh no_ , what was Elya going to do?!

 

Taking a slow, deep breath, Elya retreated and breathed a moment against a tree. She could hear the trolls laughing, the dwarves swearing, and poor Bilbo whimpering.

 

Elya edged her way around the circle so she was nearest the dwarves being left in sacks, and when the troll turned to go take a seat and wait for the roasting dwarves, oh that was Bofur and Bifur, and Nori, oh dear, to be finished _cooking_.

 

Thankfully, Thorin was closest, so when she slipped her way behind the rock where he leaned, Elya could just poke him from behind and whisper.

 

“Thorin.” She barely breathed it, and it wasn’t enough to be heard.

 

“Thorin!” Louder this time, but hopefully drowned beneath troll voices. He seemed to turn to stone, head turning just slightly to let her knew he could hear her.

 

“What do I do?!” She asked, at a loss.

 

“Cut me loose.” Was his first thought, and Elya bit her lip nearly hard enough to bleed. The sacks were thick burlap, and tied so tightly her fingers couldn’t hope to undo them.

 

“With _what_?” she snarled, unhappy with the situation and unhappy with him. “You wouldn’t let me have a weapon, remember?!” And he hadn’t, when Fili had offered her a knife to keep, Thorin jumped down his throat and then down hers for even thinking such a thing.

 

Thorin was glowering, she just knew it. “Then _get_ one.”

 

When Elya located the pile of weapons the trolls had relieved the dwarves off, she hissed between her teeth to see it right in the middle of the clearing, there was no way she would be able to grab that and remain unseen.

 

“You--” Elya was about to say something rather rude, but then found a troll turning his head in her direction.

 

“Be quiet you! You’ll all get your turns.” That one had a piggish look of intelligence in his eye, and he saw how Thorin tried to straighten himself and hide Elya from view. “What you got there then, huh? Another dwarf?” the troll, despite Thorin’s attempts, went and craned around to the other side of the rock, where Elya had just stood.

 

In the trees, Elya tried to calm her frantic heart rate. She barely dared to breathe, so close to the light and to the troll.

 

She moved a bit, maybe to get a different angle on where the weapons were. Bilbo then struggled to his feet, crying out loudly about sage of all things.

 

“Well, have you smelled them?” He asked companionably, seemingly fearless and as helpful as ever. Elya felt the hysterical urge to snicker, but nearly screamed when a large gnarled hand appeared out of the darkness to grab her shoulder.

 

Gandalf.

 

“Keep them busy.” He murmured so low she had to see his lips move to know he hadn’t just spoken directly into her mind.

 

She nodded, swallowing, and listening to Bilbo frantically try to find another way to distract the trolls from dwarf meat. Gandalf melted back into the darkness with less noise than he appeared, and Elya was distinctly reminded that he was a wizard.

 

“--skin them first!”

 

Oh good job Bilbo, way to endear yourself to the dwarves. As expected, the dwarves made a ruckus, and one troll groaned loudly, saying he’d had raw dwarf before anyways. He grabbed poor Bombur, the fattest, and hung him over his tongue. Panicking like Bilbo, Elya dropped and grabbed a stone, hardly thinking about it before letting it sail out of her hand to hit the troll’s hand. It was a nice shot and Bombur fell, thankfully on his belly so it wasn’t a hard landing.

 

“Ouch! Now who threw that?!” the troll glowered, looking out over the dwarves and into the trees where Elya had already fled from. She went about the other side, stooping to grab another rock. Blood pumped in her ears.

 

Another of her rocks went into a trollish eye, causing him to fall on his back and whine with it. The other trolls didn’t seem to care about his pain, kicking him and telling him to be quiet.

 

“Worms in their….tubes! Infested with parasites!” Bilbo came up with, “I wouldn’t trust it, I really wouldn’t.” The dwarves really didn’t like that one, but one kick from Thorin and they changed their tune. Elya bit back a smile, completely inappropriate for such a dire situation, when she heard Kili hollering he had the “biggest parasites!”

 

“So what would you want us to do? Let ‘em all go?” the fattest one sneered.

 

Elya threw another rock when he seemed about to poke Bilbo, fearing one too harsh move and Bilbo could be squashed. That troll yelped too, shaking his great fat hand and frowning. Bilbo quickly shuffled backwards out of the troll’s range.

 

“This ferret is taking us for fools!” one troll shouted, “And there’s another ‘un in the trees!”

 

“Ferret?!” Bilbo asked, indignant.

 

Oh Gandalf, Elya thought desperately, any time now.

 

“The dawn will take you all!” came his great booming voice, almost as if in answer.

 

“Who’s that then?”

 

“No idea.”

 

“Can we eat him too?”

 

And with a great crack, Gandalf split the boulder he stood on, letting the dawn like in and making the trolls turn to stone as they stood there. Relieved beyond reason, Elya ran forward into the clearing and threw her arms around Bilbo, who still stood in his sack.

 

“You were brilliant!” She cried, clutching him close. He laughed a bit self-deprecatingly, tugging at his sack so she would help him out of it. Elya laughed once more, landed a kiss on his cheek and helped free him from the awful smelling sack. She grabbed someone’s large knife from the pile and crossed to the wriggling pile of dwarves to help them out.

 

“The biggest parasites, huh?” She muttered to Kili, eyebrows raised. He had the grace to smile sheepishly, and she looked away when he stood, only wearing his breeches and tunic. It was odd seeing the dwarves so naked, without their leathers and weapons.

 

Gandalf was giving the others a hand putting out the fire and pulling the spit off, dwarves and all. Elya gave Thorin a bright grin when she got to his sack, uncaring that normally she’d be quelled by his dark expression. She was beginning to think that was just his normal face.

 

“Well that was exciting.” Fili commented, brushing himself off. He had a bit of dirt smudge on his face, and she thought maybe he was at the bottom of the pile.

 

“Never knew trolls were this far inland.” Bofur said, helping his cousin with his pants.

 

“They must have come down from the ettenmoors.” Gandalf said, knocking his staff against the stone of one. Curious, Elya went closer and stood looking up into one’s face. It hardly looked real now, just a stone statue.

 

“No thanks to your burglar,” Thorin grumbled, probably just unhappy that he had been shoved into a bag.

 

“He had the nous to stall for time,” Gandalf raised his eyebrows. “None of the rest of you did.”

 

Thorin grudgingly accepted that, looking to Elya where she unabashedly listened in.

 

“We’ll have to find you a suitable weapon.” Thorin nearly sighed, giving in. “Should something like that happen again I’d like you to have something more than rocks at your disposal.”

 

Elya beamed, hands on her hips. “Perfect.” Although she didn’t do very much at all, maybe this would begin to tell Thorin that she wanted to help, even if she had little ability to _actually_ help.

 

“There should be a troll hoard nearby, shall we go look?”

 

Gloin’s prediction came true, they smelled it far before they saw it. Elya drew up her face to try and breathe around it, and rather waited outside with Bilbo. She could hear from within the noise of surprised, happy dwarves so she supposed there as some treasure to be had.

 

The hobbit sighed deeply, and gave a weak smile when she asked what was wrong. “Never thought I’d be here, I guess. Fighting trolls.”

 

Elya hummed in agreement. She wrapped her arms around her waist and tried to hide her massive yawn. Gandalf took Bilbo a bit away, and handed him what looked like a small sword. Elya yawned again, unhappy that none of them managed to get any nights rest, and blinked when she found the morning sun blocked from her by a large shadow.

 

She looked up, and up. Dwalin stood before her with a strange look on his face. Sort of like he was deciding whether to be sour or just uncaring. He handed her a short blade, shorter even than Bilbo’s, a dagger that looked more man-made than dwarvish or elven.

 

“I will teach you how to use it.” he said gruffly, taking up his axes again and walking away without another word. She could only blink after him, holding the dagger awkwardly. Where would she put it?

 

Bofur came to her rescue, fashioning a belt out of what looked like the old remains of a saddle. It held the knife wrapped, and hung from her waist. She would have to be careful she never sat on it, or accidentally stabbed anyone, but it would work.

 

“Thank you.” she told him, taking hold of one of his rough hands. He swung their clasped hands between them, patting it with his other one, before Dwalin called out “Something’s coming!”

 

The dwarves armed themselves, standing ready, and Elya stood as closed as she dared to Bofur, ears picking up noise but unable to pinpoint where it came from.

 

“Thieves! Fire! Murder!” a large sled burst out of the trees, led by some twelve large, large rabbits. An older man drove it, wearing a worn brown robe and a large hat, with what looked like bird excrement caked onto the side of his face. Elya didn’t know what to do, until Gandalf sighed.

 

“Radagast the Brown.” He greeted his fellow wizard, and started to speak together as if this was a regular thing, running into each other in the middle of a forest.

 

“Doesn’t seem very...wizardly, does he?” Bilbo said, coming up to her side. Elya shrugged, blanching when Gandalf pulled a stick bug from Radagast’s mouth. Did he not feel it there? Do bugs normally camp inside his mouth?!

 

Trying to distract herself from the alarming wizard, Elya looked at the hobbit beside her, tapping her fingers on the hilt of his new, beautifully made elven sword. “It fits you.”

 

Bilbo looked down at it, something like chagrin on his face. “Not much of a proper hobbit now am I?”

 

Elya put an arm around him, feeling much more companionable now that they had survived three trolls together. He was the perfect height for cuddling too, a few hands shorter than her. “I think you’re much better for it. Me too, I think. Far more dwarvish.” She winked, and Bilbo couldn’t help rolling his eyes. They shared a giggle about the roughness of dwarves, but it dried up immediately when a howl echoed through the trees.

 

Everyone stopped.

 

“Was that a wolf? Are there wolves here?” Bilbo audibly swallowed.

 

“Wolf?” Bofur said, eyes wide, “No, that is not a wolf.” His tone had all the makings of a bad omen.

 

Not two seconds later, a growl, a rush, and a scream later and Thorin had ended the life of a great beast nearly the size of the ponies. It looked vaguely dog-like, but it stunk something awful and had a great maw of teeth Elya couldn’t help but fixate on.

 

Another growl, and Kili had shot off an arrow so fast, Elya turned and only saw another dead beast coming to a rest.

 

“Warg scouts!” Thorin snarled. Elya gripped the hilt of her new dagger, surprised by the slight relief it brought her.

 

“An Orc pack is never far behind.” Dwalin growled, axes in both his hands.

 

“Orc pack?” Elya parroted, paling. Gandalf rushed to Thorin.

 

“Who did you tell of this quest, beyond your kin?” He demanded, “Who did you tell?!”

 

“No one, I swear!” Thorin looked as fearful as he ever had, and Elya felt a cold rush of terror in the face of it. If Thorin was frightened, what did that mean for them all? “Why?”

 

“You are being hunted.” Gandalf’s words were chilling.

 

Gulping, Elya looked first at Bilbo, and then up to Kili and Fili, who had appeared behind the hobbit, wearing matching worried looks. _Hunted_ , like animals.

 

“The ponies are gone! They ran off!” Ori came running back out of the trees, terror inscribed upon his face.

 

The dwarves clustered, milling in a peculiar mix of rage and fear.

 

“Go, Gandalf, I will lead them off.” Radagast said.

 

“These are Gundabad wargs, they will outrun you.” Gandalf returned bitterly. Radagast was having none of that, and one of his rabbits stomped its feet into the ground, hard.

 

“These are Rhosgobel Rabbits.” Radagast smirked, suddenly looking like the wily wizard he was, “I’d like to see them try.”

 

Gandalf said nothing, only nodding in acquiesce.

 

“Come, quickly, stay together.” Thorin ordered, and the company went the opposite direction of Radagast and his sled. There was a whoop behind them, and they burst through the trees in time to see Radagast gain the attention of an orc pack large enough to put one warg to every dwarf, if not more.

 

Elya was terrified. Her heart beat harder than it had with the trolls, and she clung to Kili’s arm, suddenly realizing that she held it tightly.

 

The dwarves ran, Elya and Bilbo kept in the middle, and Elya despaired of the Great Plains and rolling hills that provided little to no cover other than patches of boulder. They would be caught for sure.

 

Now and then, they had to stop and wait behind an outcrop for Radagast to whirl passed, the orcs close on his tail. Elya stopped looking around for their pursuers when she tripped, nearly taking Kili down with her. He gripped her tightly, nearly painfully, and she saw in his face the same fear that had taken over her being. She stayed alert then, eyes fixed to Gandalf’s back, and focused on breathing, tasting blood from a raw throat.

 

They had to stop, pausing, and Ori was pulled back with a bit off shout from Thorin. Kili had her bent awkwardly, pressed tight to the rock though she didn’t complain, everything seemed too perilous, and any discomfort was pushed by the wayside. A scraping above their heads caused them all to flinch under the rock, danger only yards away. A warg scout, right on the boulder they hid behind.

 

Thorin locked eyes with Kili, and Elya forced herself to let go of the young dwarf, clutching the rock. Kili took out an arrow, breathed for a moment, then in one smooth motion stepped out, aimed, and fired. The arrow took out the warg’s eye, but even as it tumbled down, the orc and the warg gave out lasting shrieks. Dwalin’s axe silenced it, but the sudden lack of noise made it clear they were found.

 

Horns and shouts came from behind them, ugly voices in ugly words.   


“Run, run!” Gandalf cried, and they broke cover, sprinting as best they could over the plain. Elya gathered up her skirts, holding them high above her knees. This was no time for modesty.

 

She didn’t think they would make it, because they got as far as one rock, where Gandalf seemed to disappear, and Thorin’s company shouted and cried out. Elya stopped, frozen, in the center of their ragged circle. The wargs approached with monstrous snarls, the orcs on their backs grinning at the sight of their fear.

 

“Du Bekar!” Thorin shouted, and the dwarves gave out battle cries. Kili was sending one arrow after another, picking off wargs and orcs alike, but Elya knew there were too many. She seized her dagger, holding it in both hands and swearing to herself that she would take at least one of them with her. She didn’t want to die.

 

“This way you fools!” Gandalf bellowed, in what she would call an exasperated voice in any other situation.

 

“Quickly!” Thorin stood at the rock, waving them on, and Elya thought of nothing other than getting there.

 

It was a hole in the ground, disguised by the rock cropping, and she slid right down it without thought. Rocks bumped and dug into her shins, knocking her knees around and bruising her. She hit the bottom hard, stunned, it took Bifur yanking her up and out of the way for the rest of them to not crush her as they tumbled down after.

 

“Kili!” Thorin shouted from above, and Elya’s head shot up to watch. It took too long, her heart in her throat, for first Thorin and then Kili to come tumbling down. Fili had Kili up and in his arms in an instant, and Elya launched herself at them, fear and relief thrumming under her skin.

 

There was the sound of a different horn, loud and clear, and then the cries of dying beasts and orcs. Horses hooves pounded the ground, and Elya nearly bit her tongue when a large, dark shape came falling into their hole. Kili and Fili tugged her up and out of the way, pressing her behind and between them so tightly her feet no longer touched the ground.

 

The orc was dead, but Elya couldn’t stop looking at its ugly, frightening face.

 

“ _Elves_.” Thorin swore, having yanked the arrow out of its throat and looked at its make.

 

“I can’t see where the path leads, do we follow it?” Dwalin yelled from down the chasm. Fili breathed harshly on Elya’s ear and she could feel Kili’s hands shaking where they had seized her waist.

 

“We follow it of course,” Bofur answered without even waiting for Thorin. The dwarves unanimously agreed, and Elya was set down and tugged along, Fili in front and Kili behind.

 

It was like she hadn’t even had time to breathe. Her breath came harshly, and she saw spots in front of her eyes, but it was mainly Fili and Kili’s strong hold that kept her on her feet. Idly, she wondered where her dagger was, and blinked to find it sheathed in front of her on Fili’s back. How had that gotten there?

 

The chasm forced them all to slow down, and after the second time Elya grunted in pain after her elbow knocked into a protruding rock, the brothers let go of her hands so she could put both on Fili’s shoulders, tucked in and away from harm. Kili followed closely behind, and now and again she would look back to make sure he, and the rest, were following behind.

 

Eventually, the path let out into a wider one, and only minutes after they followed it, they stopped to gape at the hidden valley.

 

Rivendell. Imladris. The Last Homely House.

 

In Elya’s opinion, there was nothing homely about it...it was beautiful. Even as Thorin growled and grimaced, and the other dwarves grunted, distrusting, she and Bilbo stopped to stare in awe.

 

Catching her breath for a few words, Elya whispered, “It’s gorgeous.”

 

Bilbo nodded, and they rushed to follow the dwarves grudgingly climbing down the ridge side.

 

Elya didn’t have enough eyes to see everything she wanted to. As they drew closer, crossing the bridge, she first leaned out over the side to look down and the clear crystal water flowing beneath. After Kili pulled her back away from the edge, rolling his eyes at her bright grin, Elya craned her neck up to look at the perfectly sculpted statues guarding the door.

 

They were met by a pretty male dwarf with dark hair. Lindir, as Gandalf called him.

 

“Mithrandir!” he said, and he spoke in elvish with Gandalf. The dwarves seemed wholly unhappy with this, even more so when they were told that the Lord of the house, Lord Elrond, was not at home.

 

Then, the approaching noise of horses, and they turned to find a contingent of elves marching down at them from atop their beautiful, gleaming steeds. Bilbo and Elya were pulled into dwarven ranks immediately, as the company tightened in response to the large beings circling them on the platform.

 

Elya got a mouthful of Kili’s hair, from where he had stationed himself in front of her. She spat it out and gave his amused glance a sniff.

 

“You taste horrible.” she muttered unpleasantly.

 

“I taste lovely, thank you.” Kili muttered back, before they were both hushed by a dark look from Thorin.

 

“Welcome, guests.” Elrond was saying. Having dismounted, he stood tall over them and roved his eyes across the dwarven circle with what Elya thought was a mix of resignation and amusement, though not suspicion.

 

“Thorin, son of Thrain, I knew your grandfather when you still dwelt beneath the Mountain.” Elrond nodded to him. And Thorin replied with something rude, and Elya caught Gandalf’s pained sigh. She wanted to laugh, or to smack Thorin’s head, but she did neither, still engrossed with watching the elves around them file away, leading their horses. Everything here was beauty and grace personified, even the elves dressed for battle.

 

Elrond said something in Elvish, though she noted it was with warmth and gravity. Gloin took exception.

 

“Does he offer us insult?!”

 

“No, Master Gloin, he’s offering you _food_.” Gandalf said, exasperated.

 

The dwarves pulled in to deliberate, and Elya caught snatches of, “That sounds nice,” “I’m starving,” and “we’ll give them a chance.” She caught Bilbo’s eye, and rolled hers, succeeding in drawing a snicker from him.  

 

“Right,” Gloin nodded, with what he probably thought was graciousness, “lead on then.”

 


	3. Rivendell

Rivendell was the stuff of dreams. Great big arches, free airy corridors, large windows on every wall. It was like they never suffered winter here.

 

Elya asked for a place to bathe first. She didn’t want to go to dinner with _elves_ looking as she did, like she had first been up all night terrorized by trolls and then made to run across half the country followed by orcs wanting to kill her.

 

A kind elf, aloof though she thought that was probably part of their racial charm, brought her to an empty bathing room. She cleaned up from head to toe, spending what was probably too much time in the large tub just groaning in pleasure at the warm, clean water. Except for one embarrassing moment when a female elf entered with a change of clothes and soap, Elya enjoyed herself greatly and finished just in time to answer Bilbo’s call for dinner.

 

The elf had brought what seemed like a too-large dress. It fit well enough with the small leather belt provided to cinch it, but it bared much more of her chest than the hobbit clothing had.

Bilbo said she looked nice, once she had come out and followed him. Elya thanked him, but found herself just holding the dress up and out of the way for her feet, bare, because the female elf had made off with her clothing to wash (though Elya didn’t know what that had to do with her boots).  

 

They were some of the last to arrive, as the dwarves were unhappily grousing about the lack of meat on the table and Gandalf and Elrond, dressed now in a sweeping robe, entered just after her. The elven lord gave her an interested look, and Elya returned a hasty, uncomfortable curtsey.

 

“Ah, yes, this is Elya.” Gandalf said, one old hand resting on her back. “She is a rather special conundrum, if you’ll pardon the term my dear. Later on I would appreciate it if you would examine the odd markings upon her left arm, they seem to be written in ancient dwarvish, but no tongue I nor my companions can read.”

 

“Of course, I look forward to it.” Elrond nodded to her graciously. “Please, eat as much as you like, it has been a long day.” They went on to the high table where Thorin joined them.

 

Elya let out a breath and plopped herself down between Kili and Balin, across from Fili and Bofur. It took more effort than it should have to get her long heavy skirts over the bench. Along the table, Orin was most decidedly not interested in the green food, Dwalin was rummaging looking for something other than egg for protein, and Oin and Gloin quite obviously suffered from the flute and lute players around them.

 

Elya thought it sounded quite lovely, relaxing, like a spa, but it seemed to penetrate dwarven ears at a painful angle.

 

“Excuse me, Miss, this might be the wrong table.” Fili said to her, polite as always, and Elya turned her head to stare at him.

 

He looked at her and practically fell off the bench.

 

“Elya?!”

 

She sniffed. “What, have you forgotten my face already?”

 

“You bathed.” Fili nearly gaped at her, and a quick check told her Kili was also watching her with a crease in his brow, as was Bofur with an amused glint in his eye.

 

“Yes.” She made a show of leaning towards him, nose turned up, “I think you should have as well. I can’t look that different.”

 

Kili grunted, “I don’t like it.” His was scrutinizing her, and as much as she wanted to blush at how close he was, the fact that he was was simply irritating.

 

“What, my face?” Elya was quickly losing her patience. All she wanted to do was eat. And sleep.

 

“You look like an elf.” Kili leaned forward and boldly sniffed her. Elya felt herself turn red. “You _smell_ like an elf.”

 

“Instead of a dwarf?” she replied drily, ignoring the way Bofur knowingly chewed his greens like a cow.

 

Twin noises from Kili and Fili said they thought smelling like dead animals, sweat, and steel was better than whatever fragrance had been added to her bath water. Elya didn’t agree with them.

 

Rolling her eyes, Elya shifted so she could ignore both brothers, absently throwing a pea at Bofur’s stupid grin.

 

“Now what’s that for, lass?” He said, “I happen to think you look beautiful.” Flushing again, Elya beamed at him.

 

“Thank you, Bofur. I see your moustache is especially sculpted this evening, I don’t think I’m the only one who gave themselves a wash, am I?”

 

He laughed, “Guilty as charged!” He waggled it just to make her giggle.

 

“It’s more of a letter opener, really.” Balin was telling Bilibo, who held his sword under the table.

 

“Is it only heroes and great kings who carry named swords?” the hobbit asked, helping himself to some kind of pasta dish. Elya was listening, but found her mouth too busy chewing to speak.

 

“Thorin’s Orcrist comes from the First Age, and was wielded by a man of Gondolin who drove the goblins far into the misty mountains.” Balin supplied, voice taking on the same teaching, storytelling tone he had when telling them of the battle of Moria. “Glamdring, I believe, was the mate of Orcrist, made to fight side by side. Another sword of Gondolin, though borne by Turgon, the King. Both are well-known swords, but yours,” Here Balin waved his hand in the air, “most likely a child’s training toy.”

 

Bilbo humphed, though seemed captivated by the history lesson.

 

Kili’s elbow found her side. Wincing, as he landed on an especially yellow bruise she gained from the rock slide, Elya glowered at him, still unamused.

 

Uncaring, Kili nodded his head furtively towards an elf blowing on a long, silver flute. “Is that a male or a female?” He whispered to her, “Cause I know that one’s a she-elf,” he winked at the elf-lady on the harp, ignoring how she gracefully refused to look him in the eye, “but I can’t tell with that one.”

 

Elya growled, stomping a bare foot on his boot ineffectually. “Don’t be rude, Kili, what does it matter what gender our hosts...are…” but she was distracted by the flute player. Male or female? Perhaps neither? Or both? Were Elves constrained by mortal gender binaries?

 

Kili snorted at her, and she quickly shoved a lettuce leaf into his mouth.

 

Dinner was fantastic, and the more Elya ate the sleepier she got. At least, until Bofur became fed up with the ambient music around them, and climbed aboard the table. Almost melting in embarrassment, especially when the dwarves began flinging food and rough housing, Elya ducked her face beneath the table to avoid one of Fili’s pies.

 

It flew in a great arch and splattered against a beautiful stone sculpture, right next to Lindir’s constipated face. The elf looked on the verge of tears, and yet Elya noticed that Elrond only looked like he expected it all to happen.

 

The dinner went long into the night, and when she found her head sinking into Kili’s shoulder, Elya excused herself and availed upon Lindir to take her to her rooms.

 

She thought the poor elf needed some time away.

 

“Please don’t take their ill-manners to heart.” She tried, looking up at the elf who walked at her short legged pace. “It’s their way to be boisterous and rough. They have no, er, _little_ intent to offend.” Lindir released a quiet, barely there sigh.

 

“I rarely leave the safety of the valley,” Lindir offered her, in some form of forgiveness, “I am perhaps unused to the ways of Durin’s folk.”

 

He bowed to her when they reached her rooms, and when Elya entered she sighed with pleasure. Beautifully crafted furniture, a large open window here the night noises slipped in gently, and a large, comfy looking bed.

 

Removing her dress, and leaving it lying lightly over a chair, Elya crawled into bed and groaned when her poor beaten body relaxed. Sleep took her early, and she slept deep and comfortably in the safety of the elven valley.   

 

During their days in Rivendell, Bilbo and Elya explored the halls, found the library, the gardens, and the statue where the sword that was broken laid in its resting place. As time went on, Elya felt torn. She could stay here, once Elrond was consulted about her circumstances, she could stay here for a long time and never tire of the rest and beauty of it. But, on the other hand, she imagined watching the Company, Thorin, and Bilbo, and Fili and Kili, and Bofur and Bifur all leave, imagined waving goodbye to them and never seeing them again.

 

That hurt somewhere, deep in her chest.

 

So, Elya ignored it, tried to push it away until the very last moment. The dwarves did as well, it seemed, as there was little talk about leaving or when they would leave at all, and whenever they whispered, Thorin’s sharp gaze broke it up immediately.

 

One night, Elya returned to her rooms early to find Kili and Fili constructing what looked like a palace out of blankets, cushions, and spare chairs. The chairs were balanced precariously across furniture and against walls so that the fort seemed perched atop her bed.

 

“Uhm.” She let out, a little frozen. Kili’s dark head popped out from behind a sheet, a grin on his face.

 

“You have a very big bed, and Fili and I thought we would build you a castle for it!”

 

“I used to do this for Kee when he was a dwarfling. He loved it when we were stuck inside the mountains for too long.” Fili said from somewhere inside it, his hands moving along the top of the comforter that spread high over the head of the bed. It was a quite impressive construction, if Elya was being honest.

 

“You did it too!” Kili asserted, cheeks a bit pink.

 

“I think it’s cute.” Elya smiled, her heart warming because they had missed her enough to search her out and built the blanket forts of all blanket forts for her. They spent several hours passing a candle around beneath the shelter and comfort of the fort, propped up by cushions and wrapped in blankets, with Kili and Fili regaling her with stories form their home, the Blue Mountains.

 

Their mother sounded like the most formidable of women.

 

 Elya didn’t notice she had slipped nearly to sleep until one of the brothers tugged her around to lie flat, cuddled up to several pillows on all sides of her. Another, she guessed Kili by the warmth and roughness of his fingers, smoother her hair out of her face and tucked the blankets up high around her shoulders. Then she fell asleep, utterly missing an elf attendant entering her room looking for a particularly special side table and gaping at the strange tower of objects and sheets. Once he saw her beneath it all however, obviously tucked in, he left it for tomorrow, wondering why dwarves felt the need to build houses within houses.

 

The next morning, Elya woke to Rivendell in such a flurry as it probably had ever been in. Lindir fled one direction, while Elya came up to where two elven women, beautiful women, were leaning out over a terrace. The shouts and noise that wafted up from below told Elya what was happening, but she didn’t quite believe her eyes when she joined the elves at the balcony.

 

Naked dwarves. All of them, naked, hairy, bulky and strong, all bathing with loud jolly voices in Rivendell’s most beautiful fountain.

 

Elya gasped a laugh, hand coming up to cover first her eyes and then slipping down to her mouth. To her own shame, her eyes immediately sought out golden and brunette heads, where Kili and Fili lounged against the fountain side...spitting water at each other. Her face straight up to the tip of her ears grew right red, and Elya would have fled into the halls with that image stored away in her mind, if not for Bofur noticing the three of them up there.

 

“Ladies.” He bowed, looking as dignified as one probably could standing waist deep in a fountain, butt naked. He was without his hat, and looked incredibly strange for it.

 

The elves beside her laughed like bells, and shared with Elya an incredulous, somewhat interested glance. Elya giggled, caught up in this ridiculousness and feeling a slight responsibility for the dwarves.

 

“Sorry, they’ve never been so...brazen before, not on the road.” Elya shook her head, trying to ignore how Kili was wolf-whistling below her.

 

“You are the Miss Elya my father spoke about?” the dark haired elf said, her voice smooth as the creaminess of her skin. “It is not your doing. Though, I wonder if poor Lindir will ever recover!”

 

They all giggled a moment, until their attention was pulled away by the dwarves below.

 

Thorin himself sat on the edge of the fountain, using a soap bar to scrub through the mat of hair on his chest. Dwalin washed nearby, and Balin only a little further. All three had impressive scarring all across their skin, and as much as Elya tried not to notice, she did see how their muscles seemed to be made of great blocks of stone. The bulk of their clothes only made them slightly larger, it was a shock to find that they were indeed that muscular beneath...even old Balin was strong and fit.

 

Dori and Ori were still half dressed, probably washed already, and sat braiding their hair back into the niceties it was in. Nori had his hair down, and Elya almost didn’t recognize him without the great star atop his head.

 

Bifur was lounging and drying, bare, kicking his feet in the air. Bombur had called in Bofur to help untangle his wet beard from around his neck.

 

And then, unable to avoid them any longer, Elya looked again to Fili and Kili. Fili had his arms behind his head and reclined, enjoying the water against his skin. Kili however, had his head propped on his crossed arms on the edge of the fountain, looking directly up at her. Elya turned bright red, in one glance taking in the heavy set of his shoulders, the slight spatter of hair down his chest to his stomach, and there, peeking out of the water behind, the firm globes of his...well.

 

Elya squeaked, hiding her face from him and turning towards the brown haired elf, Arwen.

 

“You like that one the best, then?” The elf whispered to her, her smile both naughty and sweet.

 

Elya gasped, “I don’t know what you’re talking about!”

 

Arwen linked their arms companionably. “Don’t lie, I saw you favoring that brown haired one, the one will the shortest beard.”

 

Elya cleared her throat, hand still blocking her view of the fountain. “Well...I may...may find Kili the most attractive. Fili’s not bad either. Thorin too, though I don’t think I could ever stop being intimidated by him enough to appreciate it the best!”

 

“Such rough looking dwarves, hmm?” Arwen giggled gaily, “I must admit if I had ever thought of it, this is perhaps what I would expect!” Elya gasped and nudged her, grinning a little and appreciating the feminine talk. It was easy to speak with them, and as much as Elya felt like a lump of skin and hair next to their fairness, the didn’t seem to notice her human-ness.

 

“Now, now, they may not be of elven beauty, but I must say…” the blonde elf, who wore a less spectacular gown than Arwen, “there is a certain charm to their... _physiques_.” That sent the three into titters again, and catching the attention of the dwarves below.

 

“What are ye laughing at, ye harpies?!” Dwalin bellowed, arms crossed. The elves and Elya laughed again, and Elya took one last furtive glance at Kili, who had pink cheeks and a smug smile on his face. Oh, Elya hoped he hadn’t heard her. Arwen brought her away, telling her that there had been some clothes commissioned for her, some that fit much better than the hand-me-downs she dragged along with her now.

 

When Elya had grown bored and restless at the lack of snoring noise around her in her room, she went to where the dwarves had made camp in Elrond’s halls. They welcomed her with cheers and seemed uncaring that she had seen them in all their glory.

 

They were eating some meat they must have scrounged up, toasting it over the fire.

 

Someone called for a song, and then Bofur volunteered her to sing one. She knew they sometimes sung songs at the end of a long day's march, but she had never been invited to sing one before. She also didn’t know if she knew any songs, but when the request came, she found one at the tip of her tongue.

 

“I do have a song on my mind.” Elya replied to his query, “but it is not an exciting one, a lullaby more than anything.”

 

“I suppose it’s time for a wind down.” Bofur smiled at her, a little silly with drink and food. Rivendell had been good to them all, and even as they gathered in their room to burn greens and decimated what was probably expertly crafted furniture, Elya felt a rush of affection for dwarves and their proud race, and then a bit of embarrassment for privately preferring their simple ways to the perfection and tallness of the elves.

 

“As you wish, though I warn you I don’t know if I can sing.” She smiled a little, trying not to pay attention to how every dwarf was looking at her. Dwalin even, was waiting for her to start, his face less stern in the firelight. Only Thorin and Balin and Bilbo were missing, gone to Lord Elrond to seek his help with the map.

 

Elya cleared her throat, settling her elven skirts.

 

“A gentle breeze from Hushabye Mountain

 

Softly blows over Lullaby bay”

 

Movement ceased, dwarven voices fell off to listen clearer. Elya licked her lips, highly aware of where every dwarf sat or stood, and even more aware of how Kili twisted from his spot next to her, to lay and look up at her face. She couldn’t read his expression, but knew his eyes were fixed on her.

 

“It fills the sails of boats that are waiting,

 

Waiting, to sail your worries away”

 

Elya’s voice was clear, but unpracticed. The newness of her tone seemed to lend the song melody and meaning, and Elya found herself feeling nostalgic for something she couldn’t remember. They were all sitting now, most of them, either watching her or the fire, or in Fili’s case, the stars.

 

“It isn't far to Hushabye Mountain

 

And your boat waits down by the quay

 

The winds of night, so softly are sighing

 

Soon they will fly your troubles to sea”

 

Kili was the first to succumb, curled over to her so his forehead brushed her thigh. He was slumped, sleepy, and threading his fingers into her skirt much like a child would with his mother’s. Elya felt her throat grow thick and took a moment to swallow, one hand moving to rub lightly across the dwarf’s shoulders and brush down the mess of his hair. They’d all had a rough few days.

 

“So close your eyes on Hushabye Mountain

 

Wave goodbye, to cares of the day

 

And watch your boat from Hushabye Mountain

 

Sail far away from Lullaby Bay”

 

Bofur fell next, curled up next to the fire. Bombur soon followed. Nori sat on a high surface, face unreadable, and Ori was already slumped against Dori. Oin probably couldn’t hear, and was already asleep at any rate. Gloin though, looked like he was memorizing the words.

 

“So close your eyes on Hushabye Mountain

 

Wave goodbye, to cares of the day

 

And watch your boat from Hushabye Mountain

 

Sail far away from Lullaby Bay”

 

She finished, and the magic of the song hung in the air and in her heart for a long moment afterwards. Most of the dwarves were asleep, and with Fili’s help she wrapped Kili in his furs, bidding them goodnight. She didn’t get far, as Bilbo ran into her, telling her she was summoned by both Elrond and Thorin.

 

Oh dear.

 

It was a moonlit study Bilbo led her to, one that Elrond, Gandalf, Balin, and Thorin all stood in with varying degrees of solemnity. Elrond seemed somewhat annoyed, Thorin as grumpy as usual, and Gandalf at least, seemed to be trying to make her feel welcomed.

 

“Come, my dear. We have discovered that the moon may tell us many things this night.” Way to be abstract, Gandalf.

 

“Hello.” Elya greeted them all, softly.

 

“Don’t be afraid, Miss Elya, I promise I will not harm you.” Elrond stepped toward her and gave her a slight half bow. It was more than she ever expected, and it prompted her to give him the deepest curtsey should could manage gracefully. Thorin puckered his mouth like he was displeased.

 

“I thank you, my Lord,” She said, unable to reach his eyes, “I hope you may be able to answer...some of the questions that surround me...and my existence here.” She put her arm trustingly into his hand, when he made a gesture for it.

 

Elrond looked at the runes with a deep crease in his brow.

 

“It is certainly the more ancient of script, but denies reading.” He waved her closer to where the moon shone through the large window. He waited for something to happen, with her skin drinking in the moon. Nothing happened that Elya could see at any rate, but it took a few more seconds and then--!

 

The dark lines started to glow gold.

 

“Mahal.” Thorin swore, stomping closer to look at it. It shone brightly, reflecting into all their faces and Elya could only gape as her arm lit up like a firefly.

 

“What is it?” Bilbo whispered.

 

“It is the mark of the Valar.” Elrond said, decisively. “You say you woke beneath the roots of a great tree? As though from a very long sleep?”

 

“Yes,” Elya gasped, unable to understand, “I don’t remember how I got there, and Kili and Fili had to cut me out.”

 

Elrond nodded, relinquishing her arm and as she lowered it, the gold glow seemed to diminish without the Elf lord’s touch.

 

“There was once something similar, long ago. It was never recorded into books or tales, and lives on only in legend and, as I’m told, in the Earth’s memory.” Elrond folded his hands into his great sleeves.  

 

“So it is as I thought,” Gandalf nodded, leaning on his staff. “She is a blessing, given from the Valar themselves. Most likely by Aule, or Mahal, as the dwarves call him.”

 

“A blessing from Mahal?” Thorin breathed, stunned. Elya could only gape at him, not following. “You mean this girl was placed on this earth with a purpose given by the Great Father himself? She’s remarkably unprepared if so.” Thorin's eyebrow raised, covering his shock though he couldn’t help his eyes drawn to her arm, no longer glowing.

 

“She is as prepared as she needs to be.” Gandalf told him, stern. He looked at Elya and his face softened, “My dear, you were deliberately put into that tree to wait the time until Fili and Kili could stumble upon you. It’s quite likely that they were nudged to take that route to Bag End solely for the purpose of coming across you.”

 

“What does that mean? The-the gods put me here? Is that why I can’t remember anything? Does that mean I actually...come from somewhere?” Elya asked, stepping closer to Elrond and Gandalf, shocked and shaking.

 

“Not Gods,” Elrond said, “higher beings, those who created this earth and all her races. Mahal created the dwarves, behind the backs of the others, and so the elves and men and small folk were made as well. They fashion all of our lives, and some perhaps are more important in the grand scheme of things than others.” Elrond turned to look at Thorin here, grave. “You quest seems to be an important one, Thorin son of Thrain, if the Valar have given you a blessing in the form of this woman.”

 

Thorin didn’t answer, he looked increasingly troubled. Elya didn’t feel much better. She desperately turned to Gandalf for some kind of answer.   


“Don’t worry, my dear,” the old wizard said, putting his arm around her for she probably looked like the most pitiful of all creatures. “These blessings always resolve themselves in the end. I think your memory issues and your curious appearance, the script along with your height, are part and parcel of your purpose on this earth.”

 

“My height? My _purpose_?” Elya said quietly, one hand gripping her scripted arm tightly. “Why don’t I remember? Why….Why _me_?” her desperation escaped with the last word, and Gandalf softened further, turning to lead her away.

 

“It’s most likely, I think, that the Valar found you in need and found a heart a fit for these dwarves and their quest. I still don’t understand myself, but this quest seems to be stirring the pot of Middle Earth so to speak, putting forces into motion we don’t yet understand.” Gandalf squeezed her and then handed her to Bilbo. “Go, sleep, we’ll talk about it more in depth when we have the time.”

 

Although she wanted to stop and cry out and scream for her answers, Elya left. Elya stumbled along behind Bilbo, unaware where they were going until they stood outside her room.

 

“Thanks, Bilbo.” She smiled at him, weak, but truthful. “Please, could you not tell anyone? I have a feeling Thorin will say something if he wants it to be known.”

 

“Of course, Elya.” Bilbo nodded seriously, “You have a good sleep. Things will seem better in the morning.”

 

Wrapped up in her bedding, Elya laid awake a long time, overcome with questions and fears. She was placed on this earth like a chess piece, with no idea of her purpose except it had to do with her new dwarven friends. Blearily, she grumbled, slipping into sleep. Her last thought was a rather ungracious one, wondering that if Mahal had wanted her to do something, he could have at least made his message _readable_. Or not glowing. She felt enough of a freak already.

 

The morning came fast and with a furtive knock at her door. Nori slipped in and told her they were all making to leave before dawn crested. Apparently Thorin wasn’t going to risk being delayed by Elrond or the elf lord’s mysterious guests.

 

Grumbling, Elya got up and tugged on her new elf-made clothing. Breeches and strong boots (her Bree boots? She didn’t recognize them), went under thick traveling skirts, with a brassier, a shirt, coat, and cloak over all that. She gathered her things and tiptoed her way out to where Nori waited for her impatiently.

 

The events of the night weighed on her heavily, and her interrupted sleep made her eyelids slip closed longer than they should with every blink. By the time the dwarves had escaped the Last Homely House, Elya felt wide awake and knew she would miss Rivendell. She hoped she may return one day, but she knew somewhere inside herself that she never would. She patted Bilbo’s shoulder as she walked past where he stood looking behind to Rivendell.

  
Hitching her pack higher, she happened to catch Thorin’s eyes on her way by, and her solemn expression found its match in his. Neither of them understood.


	4. Goblintown

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I said every week? Yeah, I lied. Nobody has time for that, and nobody cares! :D Enjoy

It took about three days of travel before the thunder that rolled on the horizon made a sharp left and headed straight for them.

 

Elya sighed and put away her traveling skirts, opting for the more practical breeches and tunic the elves had fashioned for her. It was difficult enough ignoring the fact that they stood on a tiny ledge many thousands of meters above the earth, no need to have blustering skirts pull her off it like a boat’s sail.

 

As a long line of dwarrow, hobbit, and human-blessing, they travelled, even as the weather grew steadily worse. Elya, though preoccupied with what Elrond had told her about her own existence, tried to keep Bilbo’s spirits up. The little thing was severely homesick, especially after the comforts of Rivendell and in the face of Thorin’s steadily darkening glower. The dwarf king-in-exile was pushing them hard, walking from sun break to sunset, only for them to huddle miserably on the edge of a large ravine and soak in the rain.

 

Elya was nearly at her wits end, drowning in doubts and stress at being Valar-sent to do something she didn’t even understand, and not even Kili’s gentle prodding could persuade her to share what was making her so depressed and woe-begotten.

 

If she was a gift to _dwarves_ , why wasn’t she a _dwarf_? Why this strangely not wholly human, but not dwarvish body?

 

Her mood was made worse due to her discovery that she was not fond of heights.

 

She was put between Bofur and Dwalin. Bofur, because he started a running commentary on everything under the sun that wasn’t heights, and Dwalin because if anyone could lift her with a pinky and still manage to keep his feet on solid ground it was him.

 

This was proven difficult as they entered the heart of a storm so terrible it seemed like a giant battle was going on over their heads.

 

And then Balin looked up, his keen eyes glimpsing the massive stone figure, and Bofur shouted loud enough for her to hear, “Giants! Stone Giants!” There was a giant battle going on over their heads.

 

Oh Mahal, please save them.

 

Bilbo nearly slipped, but Dwalin caught him. They all shrunk into the rock to cling for dear life as a giant chucked a rock larger than a house over their heads. Elya’s shriek was lost in the noise of the storm, and it was only thanks to Bofur’s strong hold on her waist that she didn’t slip in her elven leather shoes and go tumbling down the mountain side.

 

Only, it wasn’t just a mountain side, was it? They were all perched on the knees of another giant, one who was waking up filled with rage at being smote by his brethren.

 

“Help us, oh help us, help us please,” Elya was mumbling hysterically under her breath, running along behind Thorin now as they made a break for the actual mountain.

 

Only half of them got off, the other half being ripped away by the giant taking a stride away from its bed.

 

“No, Fili!” Kili’s voice cried, piercing and heartbroken. No, they were separated, no, not Fili! And Bilbo and Bombur! Elya could see through the rain to the devastation on Thorin's face, his eyes wide and mouth gaping. He’d never looked so forlorn before, and suddenly he was just a dwarf with too much on his shoulders, worst of all the lives of his dear nephews. Elya didn’t feel much better, seeing how puny they all were on the giant’s knee.

 

And then it fell, crumbling towards the mountain side, its knees going first.

 

“No!” Thorin roared, rushing forward, Elya just behind him. “Fili!”

 

Thorin froze to a stop when they rounded the edge, the other half of their company strewn across the rocks but all groaning, and moving.

 

Elya nearly cried. “They’re okay, they’re all fine!” She yelled back to Gloin, who sent it down the line to poor Kili, who looked like half his soul had been ripped away. They all rushed and gripped their friends with glee, brothers seizing brothers and cousins laughing, relieved.

 

Elya had her arms around both Fili and Kili, one hand grasping Ori’s sodden tunic when she couldn’t find the hobbit.

 

“Bilbo?!” She cried at the same time as Bofur.

 

“Where’s the hobbit?” Bofur turned in a panic, catching sight of little hobbit hands holding on for dear life. He leapt for him, nearly slipping over as well if it hadn’t been for Bifur and Oin seizing his ankles. Elya wasn’t close enough to help, her heart in her throat. All seemed dire for a second, before Thorin, his eyes like fire and his face set in stone, risked his life to heave the hobbit up.

 

Thorin slipped, and Dwalin had him only by the back of his coat. Elya was close enough then, and grabbed hold of Thorin's forearm to help haul him up, bracing herself on a rock and pulling him to rest beside her. In the midst of Dwalin’s strength, Elya didn’t think she did much of the work in hauling the dwarf King up. Thorin stood, somewhat shakily, and glowered like he hadn’t just been close to his death.

 

“Thought we nearly lost our burglar.” Bofur sighed as cheerfully as only Bofur could, so close after such terror. Elya grunted, weakening, crawling her way closer to the mountain wall instead of the edge. Kili dragged her closer, pressing her between Fili and his bodies. It was wet and cold, but it comforted her feeling them breathing.

 

“He’s been lost ever since he left home.” Thorin growled from between his teeth. “He doesn’t belong here.” Elya felt her own heart seize at his snappish words, and from what she could see, Bilbo looked like he had been slapped.

 

Elya wondered if he thought the same of her, and then felt ashamed that she worried more for herself than for Bilbo, who the words had been aimed at in all their kingly fury.

 

They were searching for a cave to shelter the night, so Elya didn’t get a chance to speak to Bilbo until they all piled into a seemingly empty cave. It was roomy, and spacious, and the storm seemed far away. Elya frowned, wondering why there hadn’t been any other caves they had seen on their way in, but this one was so perfectly shaped to catch their attention.

 

Then, she had Bilbo by the arm and tugged him out of the way of dwarvish camp. Elya threw her arms around him and sobbed a bit, the events of the night catching up to her.

 

“I’m sorry.” She cried into his already soaking jacket, shivering with cold. He was shivering too, and he sighed, putting his own arms around her.

 

“Don’t be sorry, it's not your fault.” He sounded beaten down.

 

“I’m glad you’re alive.” Elya pulled back and sniffled, straightening his collar a bit. She felt useless and emotional and noticing an unnerved glance from Gloin she was probably making a scene.

 

“Me too.” Bilbo tried to smile, waving her away to go find sleep. Elya listened, stepping over dwarves and bedding to find Kili and Fili already setting up their bed rolls. Fili rubbed her arm easily, trying to comfort her, and Kili looked awkwardly away from her tear stained face. Elya snorted and grumbled “Men!” under her breath, but scrubbed away the evidence of her weakness just the same.

 

She was placed between them, closer than they normally sleep probably as a result of the cold, the scare, and the dangers of the mountains. She didn’t say anything however, only making them turn their backs a moment so she could struggle out of her wet breeches and into her warmer woolen skirts, miraculously dry from where they had been rolled in the center of her pack.

 

They all bunkered down, with no fire the only heat came from body heat, and the tight cuddling soon stopped Elya from shivering.

 

Her comfort was probably second place to Fili and Kili’s desperation to know the other was there, as when she woke blurrily sometime later, she was squished tightly between them with their arms thrown over her to wrap tightly in each other’s tunics.

 

Elya hummed, the weight on her shoulders lifting for at least this one instant. Kili had his pointy nose pressed into her hair, ducked down to poke coldly into the back of her neck and Fili had his arm curled up under her head, sleeping with his own resting on his hand.

 

Their legs were a tangle of boots and blankets, and Elya figured she would trade respectability and propriety any day for the warmth and comfort of the brother’s holds.

 

“I hope the best for you. I truly do, Bilbo.” She heard Bofur say just before she was about to return to sleep. It confused her, what was Bilbo doing? Then, there was a beat of silence, the sound of a sword being drawn, and a great shout from Thorin woke them all.

 

Elya burst upright, Kili plastered to her back and Fili already holding his knives. “Up, wake up!” Thorin shouted again, and then the world collapsed from beneath.

 

They fell.

 

Elya, wide awake now, cried out in pain when they battered against a rock wall, scraping down a huge carved slide to fall altogether into a bone carved platform. Shocked, she could only lay there stunned, having landed on Fili with Kili, now backwards, accidentally knocking his boots into their faces.

 

“Du Bekar!” Thorin’s shout came just at the same time as a multitude of other, inhuman screeches. Goblins rushed them, pushing them up and around, tearing Elya first away from Fili and then knocking her into Nori, who quickly turned her around and ducked her head.

 

“Stay down.” he hissed, not unkindly though rather rushed. Elya swallowed her whimpers and fell into Dwalin when they were all pushed, dragged, and pulled away. Dwalin stood tall enough she was hidden for the most part, with Nori crowding close behind her and Fili on one side.

 

It was all a blur before they were led somewhere that jutted out into the cave system, holding a throne at the far end. They were pushed and prodded with spears into the center before the great, moving lump of flesh on said throne, and Elya felt several different dwarf hands on her arms, tugging her around and safely tucking her into them. She felt a rush of fear for her dwarves, and herself, and wondered where Bilbo was. If he was here, he would have been pushed tightly in next to her, at the center.

 

The goblin king was horrendous. Grown fat and large, he towered over them all, and his reek made her gag. Prodded forward by goblin spears and talons, the dwarf group clustered as tightly as they could. Bofur stood as much in front of her as he could, Dwalin making a convenient wall at her back, and Kili and Fili covered her from both sides.

 

Suddenly, it occurred to Elya why they may be protecting her, as the only female of the group, and she felt her courage seep away in the face of such horror. She gripped at Kili’s hand, ducking her head, and tried to listen and not cry.

 

“ _Dwarves_ , your grace,” one goblin simpered, ugly, with one eye larger than the other.

 

“Dwarves!” the king cried, and she was alarmed to note that he seemed more aware and intelligent than the grunts that had, screeching, dragged them forward.

 

“Search them, every crack, every crevice!” The king howled, and the goblins around them surged forward, breaking into their little dwarf cluster with all the force of a wrecking ball.

 

Kili was ripped from her despite his tight hold, and she fell directly into two goblin’s holds. Their hands, mutated and deformed, roved her body with pinches and scrapes, tearing at her clothes, her weapons, and her hair.

 

She tried not to scream, but couldn’t help but wail slightly when one, cruelly, tore at her sensitive side, and nearly flung herself from their grip when one boldly reached into her shirt. It scrambled at her, finding breast in a twist of claw, and shrieked, “This one’s female!” and all her worst nightmares were realized.

 

Elya was thrown from the protective huddle of the dwarves, pushed to the rough planks of the platform, and she whimpered, frozen. Her breast twanged with pain and she felt dirty, like the goblins had left physical mud marks of their violation. She cowered before the goblin king, unable to raise her head to look at him, hoping that the dwarves thought she wasn’t anything less for being petrified of what these goblins could do to her.

 

“What’s this then, a female dwarf?” the goblin king stood over her, nudging her with his scepter. She cringed away from it, gathering herself up enough to kneel. She took a deep breath, imagining that she was Thorin, and lifted her head as proudly as she could.

 

“No, not a dwarf, some mongrel creature I think.” The goblins around them chattered and laughed at his words, like it was some great insult. Elya could feel the tension of the dwarves behind her like a knot in her back, but she hoped desperately none of them would speak. If any of them protested, they'd be stuck with goblin spear in an instant, and she would never wish for that.

 

“Speak, creature,” the goblin king bent over her, his breath a waft of rancid rot in her face, “Why are you here in my great halls?”

 

Elya didn’t think she could find her voice if she tried, and settled for swallowing tightly, her lips a thin line of white skin. She wouldn’t speak for this monster.

 

“Speak!” he yelled into her face, and she flinched away, turning her head from him.

 

The goblin king reached out a fat, rotten hand and turned her chin towards him with a rough hold. She tried to push him away but he seized her by the neck, dragging her across the planks until she knelt just below him.

 

Oh the smell of him, the tightness of his grip. Elya was frightened, she was terrified that he would throw her, or clench his fist, and she would die here in the goblin tunnels.

 

“I suppose dwarves aren’t as honorable as most would describe them, hmm?” The goblin king prodded with an ugly grin, “if they travel with a whore so young and fresh.” He dragged her up, lifting her by his grip on her neck, and Elya panicked. She gurgled.

 

She couldn’t breathe. Not with the hold he had on her neck, and as he pulled, her feet left solid ground and she hung there, scrabbling at his hand to get some relief on her neck. The goblin king tightened his hold and she felt her head may just pop right off or her neck would be crushed in a mess of flesh and bone. Blood pounded in her ears, but even above that she could hear Kili’s snarl.

 

“Put her down!”

 

“Let her go!” The dwarves started to make a fuss. Swearing and crying out to hold, to _stop_.

 

Tears squeezed out of her eyes. Elya’s lip trembled but there was nothing she could do, her arms trembled where they attempted to gain some leverage on the king’s hand. She needed to breathe. Spots grew in front of her eyes, and the goblin king brought her close to his face, sniffing deeply and blowing a gust of air across her face. Her hair flew back, a knotted ratty mess, and the king saw a glint of the bead.

 

Interest grew in his face, and as Elya slowly suffocated to death, hung there in agony, he reached out to touch, to bring that gem forward, to see what shone so lovely in her hair.

 

And then, “Enough!” bellowed Thorin, just as Elya thought she would succumb to blackness and die, right there in the goblin king’s hand.

 

She was dropped like a sack, landing harshly on the wood. She took in two deep, grateful breaths, crying, before dwarf hands had hold of her arm and she was pulled into their midst.

 

Kili had his arms around her in an instant, nearly as tight as the goblin king’s hold, nearly blocking her from much needed air. She whimpered, sobbing into his tunic, hiding her face and she felt his warmth seep into her through their clothes. Elya had never paid so much attention to how he touched her, and now, here, was different from every other time.

 

When she could feasibly breathe, Elya turned her head so she could blearily peered up at him, and what she saw shocked her.

 

“Oh, Thorin, _King_ under the Mountain.” The goblin king was saying, sneering, but Elya could only look up into Kili’s eyes.

 

He was angry. Not just angry, but enraged, an inferno of darkness had been birthed within him and he seemed barely able to contain himself. He stared hard at the goblin king, death written in his eyes, and strength in his hold. Elya drew a hand up his chest to where his heart pounded against his skin, and she felt rather than saw the evil leave his expression.

 

Elya pressed in closer, putting her face right into the skin of his neck, and he shuffled her in his arms so he pressed her tight. He smelled like steel and sweat and something dark, pine tree perhaps, or whatever it was that Kili smelled like.

 

Though she couldn’t ignore everything around them, Elya surrendered herself to Kili’s hold, and was gratified to find that he held her tightly without pause. She coughed, and tried to swallow.

 

“I know someone who would pay a pretty price for your head.” the Goblin King raised an eyebrow, looking close to gleeful. “A pale orc astride a white warg.”

 

Thorin seemed to turn to stone. “Azog, the Defiler is dead!” he snarled. Elya swallowed thickly around her swelling, remembering the story Balin had told one the road before Rivendell. Azog, who had laid low Thorin’s family.

 

“Oh think his defiling days are done, do you?” the goblin king waved a grotesque hand at a tiny, shuddering little goblin with crumbled, useless legs. “Send word to the Pale Orc that we have his bounty.” It chittered and left, reeling away on its rope pulley.

 

“Now, why are you here, hmm?” the king muttered, “Tell me.” His differently sized eyes watched them unsettlingly, his head tilted to supposedly hear them better.

 

None of the dwarves moved. Kili’s arms tightened around Elya.

 

“They will not talk? We’ll make them _squawk!_ ” he shouted, starting up an ugly, jiggling dance. “Bring up the mangler! Bring up the Bone-breaker!” The goblins surrounding them shrieked and shouted, banging spears into the ground and shoving gleefully at the outer edge dwarves.

 

He pointed his rotting scepter towards Ori and Elya, “We’ll start with the youngest and their female! Maybe that will make them squeal!” he laughed  

 

Then, Orcrist was unsheathed, and the goblins snarled and shrieked at them.

 

“I know that sword! Goblin-Cleaver! The Biter!” The King cried, fear evident in his voice.

 

“Mangle them! Torture them!” and the goblins whipped and hit at them.

 

One managed to strike Elya, but a deep growl from Kili and he lashed out, his fist sinking into that goblin’s neck, crushing bone and forcing it to struggle to breathe through a crushed windpipe and gurgling blood. It fell back to topple over the side of the platform, only to be replaced with another, who whipped at Kili and caught him just under his eye.

 

 _Dangerously_ close to his eye. The whip bit into him and he bled down his cheek. Aggrieved, Elya reached up and bent him down, to protect his face from their lashes even as he refused to budge from where he covered her with his body, taking every hit with a grunt and a clench of teeth she could feel in his body. She pressed her face closer to his, making an involuntary whining noise every time he jerked with pain.

 

“Kill him!” The king was screeching, and both of them surged when they realized that it was Thorin he was talking about. “Behead him! Take the dwarf king’s head!”

 

“No!” Kili cried amidst his fellow dwarves, arms still around her. Elya yelled indistinctly, eyes fixed on the highly held sword that would soon end their leader’s life. All seemed dire for a second, on the edge of catastrophe, before a sudden surge of air and noise knocked them all to the ground, numbed by the brightness.

 

Gandalf had come.

 

Ears ringing, Elya turned to look at the wizard, a happy sight in between dazed goblins and blinking dwarves.

 

“Fight!” He hollered, voice commanding her to stand. Rage filled her, and she felt invigorated by his return. “Fight!” Elya scrambled up alongside Kili, looking around for her dagger, or anything sharp. She found some of Fili’s knives in the pile before them, and snatched them up. A goblin dived for her, and while it missed her, a backhand from Thorin sent it whirling away, unfortunately kicking the key sideways.

 

The key flew through the air, and Elya leapt for it before she could think. She landed hard on her hip, but had her hand wrapped tightly around it, caught before it flew over the edge of the platform and lost to the goblin tunnels.

 

She turned, and looked at Thorin as if in a dream. The look of relief on his face was undisguised, as well as his gratitude. But reality trickled in and they returned to rush and flee. Scrambling up, as the dwarves and Gandalf had continued fighting during their little heart attack moment, Elya had Fili’s knives in her hands and tucked away the Key into her shirt, pressed tightly between her breasts for safe keeping. Thorin nodded at her, and they rejoined the fight.

 

Well, Thorin did. Elya picked up as many weapons as she could conceivably run with, along with the closest bag, Oin’s medicine bag, and Thorin's map.

 

Then, they were running.

 

During the heat of it, Elya couldn’t say how many times a dwarf saved her life, by swinging a sword around over her head, or pulling her out of the way of a long drop, or out of a goblin’s clutches.

 

The pain of her throat was pushed aside, since it seemed only luck was keeping them alive. Kili grabbed a ladder, and somehow managed to stop several arrows with it, throwing it down to be a bridge they could cross.

 

Elya snarled when a goblin grabbed hold of her skirts, she kicked it harshly in the face without hesitation and it screeched, falling back hopefully to its death.

 

“I hate this!” She shrieked in anger, fear pushed by the wayside to make room for her rage.

 

To her endless fury, Kili laughed at her, swinging an arm around her middle and holding her steady when Thorin cut the ropes of a bridge, sending them all swinging like a bunch of children's toys.

 

Thorin was off first, but on the second swing, Kili loosened his arm and bodily threw her through the air into his uncle’s arms. Elya didn’t even have time to scream, suddenly weightless and barreling through a very empty, long space.

 

Catching her with a loud grunt, Thorin timed it so the entire company was off the death swing before he cut its last rope and it fell into the darkness. Kili had snatched Elya back when he ran by, and she swore to herself that she would tear off his stupidly attractive nose the next time they weren’t in danger.

 

They ran, and now and then a dwarf would holler for one of the hammers or war axes which she carried. Later, Elya would attribute her sudden strength to the adrenaline and stress of the time to explain how she managed to carry three of the heaviest weapons the company carried. Now and again a goblin would get past the guards of the dwarves in front or behind her, and Elya would be forced to dodge or trip the thing up so it could be skewered by someone.

 

Gandalf lead them until the Goblin King jumped from on high to stop them, laughing in victory and taunting the wizard.

 

Taunting!

 

Elya bared her teeth in amusement when Gandalf merely slit the bastard’s throat in response, and they were off again.

 

At least, until they found themselves cornered, and someone had the great idea to cut their section of bridge free. Elya dropped to her knees, screeching wordlessly as she clung with desperate fingernails to the wooden planks. Someone slammed over her, keeping her from flying back and being lost, and with some sort of grace from the heavens, they slid to a sudden, small drop, and they all groaned.

 

Alive.

 

Elya huffed the dust from her face, and blinked dazedly at Thorin, who had pinned her to the boards for safety. That was nice of him.

 

“Well, that could have been worse.” Bofur remarked lightly, from somewhere in the wreckage.

 

Elya wanted to snort, but the instant she put shaky feet on solid stone, the Goblin King’s corpse fell atop their bridge and crushed those left inside. They were all swearing, so Elya thought it wasn’t too bad, but it goes to show Bofur that he really shouldn’t say such things.

 

Kili scrambled to her side, face pale and eyes wide where they were cast straight upwards. “Gandalf!” he cried, warning them all of the swarming of the goblins, who crawled down the rocks toward them with a singular purpose. They _had_ killed their king.

 

“Run!” Gandalf hollered, and Kili levered her straight up and over a section of rock. Elya, thoroughly sick of running, clenched his hand in hers and grit her teeth, keeping up with them all through sheer force of will.

 

Sunlight in the corridor gave her hope, gave her somewhere to run to as the air lightened and she could smell trees and earth and sky. The sudden exposure to the light made her blink back spots, even as she felt the change in the ground from stone to dirt. The company ran until they could no longer hear the goblins screeching, blocked into their mountain from fear of the light.

 

The company stopped, Gandalf counting them off as they passed a large rock. Elya couldn’t help her hysterical laughing, as she came to a stop and her trembling legs collapsed beneath her. Oin was already coming for her, eyebrows drawn in worry as he took in her throat.

 

“Here we go lass, take a few deep breaths and don’t fuss.” He said gruffly, shoving away a suddenly overcrowding Kili.

 

“Is she going to be alright?” Fili asked from somewhere, craning to get a look at her face.

 

“Aye, she’ll be fine, the lass had the smarts to snatch my medicine bag.” Oin patted her thigh grandfatherly.

 

“Thirteen. Fourteen.” Gandalf counted, concerned. “Where’s Bilbo? Where’s our hobbit?!” the worry and anger in his voice froze them all, and they all turned searching for the halfling who had disappeared at the beginning.

 

“I think I saw him slip away.” Nori said, “When they first came to grab us.”

 

“We have to go back for him!” Kili put forth earnestly.

 

“He’s likely dead.” Dwalin grumbled, not unkindly. Others tried to speak, but Thorin drowned them all out.

 

“I’ll tell you where Mr. Baggins is. He left!” Thorin waved an arm out aggressively, blue eyes certain. Elya looked up at him and her lip trembled, thinking of Bilbo lost and alone in those dark tunnels, with those monsters, scared and left behind. It was a cruel thought. “We left him.” Elya whispered through her wrecked voice, mind full of images of a lost, broken, or wounded Bilbo, doomed to a terrible fate.

 

“He’s thought nothing but his armchair and his books and his hearth since he came. It is better that he’s gone.” Thorin continued, voice leaving a ringing silence in his wake.

 

“No, he’s not.” That was Bilbo’s voice! He stepped out from behind the rock, as though appearing from nowhere. He was a little scuffed up, pack less, but he stood there in his red velvet waistcoat and smiled at them, healthy and whole.

 

“Bilbo!” Elya’s cry was echoed by both Kili and Bofur, relief and happiness evident in all their voices. Elya wanted to get up and go to him, wrap him up in her arms, but Oin gave her such a stern look she remained still and let him poke and prod at the sensitive places on her neck.

 

“I do think of home, I miss it. I miss my kitchen, my chair, and my books. My fireplace, and my garden. That’s where I belong. That’s home.” Bilbo was saying, voice clear and gentle in the dying sunlight. “But you lot, you don’t have one. A home, I mean. It was taken from you. And I’m here, I’m here to help you take it back, if I can.” He concluded it as though it was all he had to say, but what he did say was humbling.

 

Thorin’s shoulders dropped and he watched the hobbit with badly disguised curiosity and shame. In fact, all of them were ashamed to stand here and remember how they doubted and mocked poor Bilbo or so long, being a small and gentle creature that he was, and stood in the wake of Bilbo’s generosity.

 

Gandalf of course, only twinkled knowingly.

 

Their safety and quiet was broken with the long, far, far too close howl of a warg. Something was rushing down at them from the trees, the orc pack!

 

“Out of the frying pan…” Thorin started, teeth clenching and rushing to get his company moving again.

 

“And into the fire.” Gandalf growled, finishing the thought and his long legs taking him ahead of them all.

 

Elya whimpered, swallowing what tasted like blood, and got up with Oin on one side and Kili on the other. The Durin brother hadn’t really left her side since the night before, and the sun was already setting quickly. She was grateful, knowing that he was right there. They had all been awake for nearly 24 hours, with only a little bit of sleep beforehand. The company was sluggish, but frightened, and their bodies ran on the prey fear of all small creatures.

 

“Into the trees!” Thorin bellowed, since they had reached the edge of a cliff. Elya nearly whined, but she didn’t have to reach and clamber up herself. No, someone with large, rough hands appeared behind her and she was bodily tossed up and into someone else’s hands. Nori grabbed her, nearly wrenching her arms out of their sockets, but he settled her up higher in the tree and leaned down to help Bilbo.

 

The orc pack was on them, the wargs snapping at the bases of their trees and tearing off whole branches.

 

Elya couldn’t see much, but she did hear it when Thorin drew in a deep, shuddering breath.

 

“Azog.” He was horrified, stunned beyond belief, and Elya followed his gaze to where the Pale Orc rode atop his massive white warg.

 

He was terrifying, powerful, and just as cruel looking as he was strong. He garbled something in the Black Speech, the syllables shivering down Elya’s spine with their oily biting, and she knew it wasn’t something kind.

 

“Here!” Fili cried, and something small and flaming went sailing into the warg’s midst. They yelped and shied away from it as wolves would, and Elya caught sight of Gandalf lighting the pine cones on fire with a few whispered words and his staff.

 

Elya tore as many pine cones off the branches as she could reach, and tossed them as soon as they were aflame.

 

There was a condemning snapping sound, and the tree they were all in shuddered, beginning to lean. Elya met Nori’s eyes with muted panic.

 

“We’re gonna have to jump!” the thief cried, preparing himself by finding a strong and sturdy foothold. Elya copied him, swearing something under her breath that she had heard once from Gloin. Dori was yelling something to Ori, who looked just as frightened and out of place as she felt.

 

Dwarves were not meant for trees.

 

The tree fell, and Elya flung herself into the next one, branches scraping along her skin and ripping her dress. If she had any clothes left after this, she would be surprised.

 

“Again!” Nori shouted in her ear, “Jump!” And she did, hitting hard on her stomach, knocking the breath out of her. The wargs were relentless, the flames making the tree’s tenuous hold in the dirt weaker and weaker, until all thirteen dwarves, wizard, hobbit, and woman were trapped in the furthest tree, right on the edge of the cliff.

 

Azog snarled something, and as if on cue, the tree started to shudder. Elya screamed when they fell backwards, hanging over the edge of the great expanse, and reached to grab for Fili, who was closest to her now.

 

“Hold on!” The dwarves were hollering, some unable to get a strong enough hold.

 

Elya couldn’t really see anything through the flames, but what she did see was Thorin rise out of the branches onto the trunk like an avenging god. He seemed deaf, as he ignored Dwalin’s, Balin’s, Fili and Kili’s cries to stay down, to stop. He ran forward, charging towards Azog and certain death, and everyone watched him roar a dwarvish battle cry, helpless.

 

“No!” Elya heard Dwalin scream, broken sounding, and head the impact of Thorin’s body hitting the ground, despite being unable to see.

 

Elya saw a small body flash by, and realized that it was Bilbo, running to the rescue. _Bilbo_.

 

“Gandalf!” Elya cried out, but found him unable to move, his staff the only hold Dori and Ori had on the tree. There could be no help from the wizard, and he looked as grave and helpless as she felt.

 

Swallowing, Elya swung her legs up, locked them tightly around the tree trunk and with strength she didn’t know she had, she grasped Dwalin’s arm and levered him up over the tree, to stand somewhat stunned. The force it took to get his bulk over the side had forced her nearly sideways, her only hold on the tree now her legs, shaking and weak.

 

“Go,” she snarled, the injury of her throat darkening her voice to a terrible rasp. Dwalin whirled and charged, axes at the ready, Fili and Kili not far behind. Elya turned her attention to Balin, and helped him up next, crawling along the trunk to get to him.

 

“Go, Balin!” She cried when he seemed hesitant to leave her, and he nodded, the old warrior rising to the surface.

 

She was weakening, unsure if she could hold on any longer, and she was pretty close to passing out due to the fire smoke. But, as she lay panting over the tree trunk, knowing that it was only seconds away from falling, she thought she felt a breeze.

 

And then talons wrapped gently around her middle, and with a great gust, something flew up into the air with her latched in its talons.

 

Elya was too surprised to shriek, and then when that eagle (because they were eagles, she could see one right below her), let her go, she drew up tight with momentary terror before she landed perfectly on the back of the same eagle she was watching. Looking behind, Elya gaped at the great winged birds of prey swooping in and either crushing, tossing, or whacking the orcs with their arm-long talons, or snatching up dwarves and hobbit alike to fly off.

 

Gandalf merely leapt off the tree, apparently trusting the birds to catch him.

 

They were all safe, all airborne, and the last thing she heard of that terrible fiery place was Azog’s snarling, enraged to have had his prey under his grasp and then lost it.

 

Elya shuddered, shivering in the wind. She hunkered down closer to the Eagle, surprised by its warmth, and cried into its feathers. It made a loud cry, head turned to peer back at her, and Elya was shocked when she heard it speak.

 

“You are safe now, small blessing.” the Eagle said, it’s voice as large and piercing as the wind it flew on, “dry your eyes.”

 

“You are kind.” Elya replied, resting her face against its back. “But I don’t think we will be safe until Azog is dead.”

 

The Eagle was silent, because it was true. And they flew, for what must have been hours, passing over the rest of the Misty Mountains and rolling, deep hills towards what looked like a rock spire. From what Elya could see in the morning sun, there were great steps cut into it all the way down, and she wondered who had the time and the strength to do such a thing.

 

And then, they were at rest, the eagles stopping one by one to let them all down. Elya’s legs felt like noodles, and the ground felt funny under her feet. She was also highly aware of how tall the spire was, they could see far into the distance, and one good gust of wind felt like it could brush her right off the top of it.

 

Kili’s first act once off his eagle was to rush her and wrap around her, much like he had in the goblin tunnels. His second was to reach an arm and snag Fili, who came to a rest next to them. Kili breathed into her hair, and Elya trembled, his warmth bleeding into her through his tunic. The flight had sapped all her strength and all her warmth, and she hid her face in his neck.

 

“Thorin!” Gandalf cried once he touched down, and Elya pulled back to watch him fall to his knees next to the prone him. Kili kept one arm around her as they approached, and she gripped his hand in worry.

 

Fili shifted on Kili’s other side, the two of them brushing shoulders in their shared fear for their uncle.

 

Gandalf mumbled something, something that made the hair on the back of her neck stand up. There was a strange, subtle rushing in her ears and when it died off, Thorin opened his eyes. Elya didn’t want to think about what Gandalf had just done.

 

“The halfling?” Was Thorin’s first words, and Elya couldn’t help her smile. Kili looked down at her and wiggled his eyebrows, somehow back to the regular Kili instead of the furious warrior he had been for most of the night.

 

“Bilbo’s here, he’s fine.”

 

“You!” Thorin growled, but without the normal disdain he usually held. That didn't mean it wasn’t aggressive, and thrown directly into the hobbit’s face. “Didn’t I say you would be a burden? That you didn’t have a place among us?”

 

Elya twitched, wanting to just throw a rock at Thorin’s stupid face, but then a beautiful smile crossed the Dwarf king’s face, transforming him into someone else, and he boldly hugged the hobbit.

 

“I have never been so wrong, in all my life.” Thorin said into Bilbo’s shoulder, and the hobbit clung back to him. The dwarves all celebrated, Bifur pumping his fists over his head, Bofur clapping loudly, Dori wrapping his own thick arms around both Ori and Nori, one who merely submitted and the other who quickly attempted to flee.

 

Elya sagged, laughing somewhat breathily through her pain. Kili jostled her, and Fili wrapped his own arms around them both, laughing.

 

“Is that?” Bilbo asked, voice quiet and awed, and the dwarves all turned to see what he was looking at.

 

“The Lonely Mountain.” Gandalf confirmed, and Elya sighed in relief at seeing their destination. It couldn't be much further, if they could see it.

 

“I do believe the worst is behind us.” Bilbo sighed with a smile, tucking his hands into his pockets. Thorin stood beside him, not quite beaming at both the mountain and the hobbit, but with an expression which would probably be ecstatic joy on anyone else’s face.

  
Elya twitched again, getting a feeling of deja vu, remember how Bofur had something similarly blasé. Quickly glancing upward to check that nothing was falling on them, Elya shrugged it off as an absurd coincidence and followed behind the dwarves as they started their descent.

They had yet again, lived.


	5. Beorn's House

She was a blubbering mess. Elya tried to stifle herself, but a sharp pang of pain in both her throat and her gut made it hard to keep in her whimpering. The steps were tall, and it took the combined effort of all the dwarves to get down them without slipping. Once or twice someone would slip, and Thorin would call something that was both encouraging and reprimanding in Khuzdul.

 

At the bottom of the Carrock, they all stopped, and Elya took the chance to go relieve herself. Telling Ori where she was, she only went a slight distance before fear and need forced her to stop. She, gladly, could still hear the dwarves behind her.

 

She had a suspicion about what was wrong with her, now that the adrenaline of the night had passed.  

 

Yep.

 

She had begun her monthly bleeding, the first time it had done so since she woke up in this world. Elya despaired for herself, why had this happened _now_?! What was she to do?

 

Apparently she had taken too long, because Ori came to find her, and he did, finding her kneeling in despair with her fingers covered in menstrual blood. Being a male, and rather young, Ori was particularly horrified.

 

“You’re hurt! And bleeding, where are you hurt?” he gasped, hands fluttering, “I’ll go get Oin, Oin!” he called, and Elya shushed him, standing and grabbing his shoulder with her non-bloody hand.

 

“Ori, Ori darling, I’m not hurt.” Elya said quickly, not wanting the other dwarves to rush over yelling battle cries to find her dealing badly with her woman’s parts. “It’s...it’s...well.” She gave him a pitying, red-faced stare.

 

Then followed the most awkward conversation of her life. Eventually, the poor thing caught onto what she was saying, blushed beet red and stuttering, and then they walked through how people went about dealing with this issue in the wild.

 

Ori was a surprising well of information, and he explained it away with “Books, Miss Elya, I just read a lot of...books.” He scrounged up a relatively clean cloth for her, and she basically suffered the indignity of shoving it into her small clothes until they all had a chance to pause.

 

Fortunately, they stumbled upon a shallow river on their way and stopped for a bath and a chance to clean and wrap their injuries. Elya shivered in the cold of it, hidden slightly by a stocky outcrop of thin reeds, though she never went far enough to no longer head dwarven shouts and splashes. Idly, she thought back to when they had all bathed in Elrond’s fountain, and couldn’t help her blush when she suddenly remembered the dark, smug gaze of a naked Kili.

 

Insufferable dwarves.

 

The night they slept on the ground, without their supplies, was probably the worst night of the entire journey. They couldn't sleep long, only a few hours in case Azog managed to catch up, and above that most of them had some type of injury. Elya lay whimpering between Fili and Kili, who traded helpless looks over her body. Eventually they slept, but it was a shallow and haunted sleep, and they woke in worse spirits than they had laid down.

 

Thorin still looked like a warg’s chew toy, most of them were bruised and battered, Bofur had a surprisingly bad burn from the pine cones on his hands, and Elya herself couldn’t speak without pain. Coupled with the swelling of her throat, her female guts were tearing themselves apart at the most inopportune time.

 

They were wakened by a warg’s howl, which rang far, far too close for comfort. They ran, some stumbling, most with their weapons in their hands. Bilbo was sent out to scout, the determined hobbit going with only a cinch of his belt.

 

They were all starving, too.

 

Elya completely collapsed on the ground, thankful for the reprieve. She greedily drank as best she could from Kili’s offered water skin and coughed at its cruel slide down her gullet.

 

Blood came from her throat.

 

Swearing, Kili got Oin’s attention, waving him over. When Oin crouched to her, Elya gave him her best smile, weak and pitiful as it was, and he patted her cheek like a grandfather. She curled up tight, arms crossed over her stomach but no one else other than Ori took it as more than just feeling frightened and sore. As always, she felt like she wanted to cry but knew that the effort and motion of sobbing would hurt something awful.

 

“Let me see lass, open up.” She opened up, tilting so Oin could see.

 

“The running isn’t doing you any favors.” Oin grunted, “The swelling hasn’t had a chance to go down and that’s what is rubbing sore when you breathe. The bruising needs rest, and the throat needs softer liquids.” Kili, hovering as he was, could hear every word and he looked up to Thorin with a pleading face.

 

Thorin was between a rock and a hard place, and it was made worse when Bilbo came back.

 

“Where are they?”

 

“Very close, not a league away.” Bilbo said seriously, rising to his new job with all the grace of hobbit-kind. “But there’s something else.”

 

“What’s wrong, were you seen?” Thorin stepped forward, concerned.

 

“What? No, no I wasn’t seen--” Bilbo shook his head, mouth opening to continue.

 

“Hah, see, what did I tell you. Very light on their feet, very stealthy hobbits are.” Gandalf nearly preened. The dwarves gave around of approving chuckles and back slaps, nearly knocking the hobbit off his feet.

 

“No, wait,” Bilbo tried to interject, but was talked over.  

 

“We must leave, quickly, we head east--”

 

“Just wait!” Bilbo finally broke through, “I’m trying to tell you that there’s something else out there!” He stomped his foot angrily.

 

“What form did it take?” Gandalf rumbled, “Was it a bear?”

 

“Wh-- Yes.” Bilbo looked at him askance, “But, bigger. Much bigger.”

 

Gandalf hummed, confirming his knowledge. “There is a house.”

 

“You knew something is out there?!”

 

Thorin spoke over him, “What kind of house?” He was quite suspicious because the last house Gandalf had led them to was elvish.

 

“Come, quickly.” Gandalf ushered them all up to their feet, pausing just by Elya, “On your feet, my dear, I promise you will have all the time you need to heal at our next stop.”

 

It took Kili and Fili to get her up and running, and Elya felt half dead.

 

Then, there was a chase. Azog and his wargs seemed right on their tail, and then a great, rattling roar sounded in the trees, shaking the earth. The orcs seemed to retreat, but Gandalf was leading then directly into the territory of the thing that roared. Elya concentrated on breathing and not stumbling, holding with dear life to Kili’s hand as they ran into a beautiful field, with a lovely house standing in the middle.

 

They all ran, and a look behind showed the great beast that burst from the trees. A _bear_? That was not a bear! Elya wanted to laugh when Bombur over took them all, but the situation seemed a little too dire for it.

 

They rushed into the courtyard, piling up at the door. It took Thorin, one of the tallest, reaching up to unlatch the lock for them all to get inside, and even then, they closed the door on the bear’s face.

 

Bilbo fell back from the opening, his sword pointing up towards the bear’s face. With a great heave, they got it closed, and with a huff and a few minutes of pacing, the bear left.

 

“What was that?” Ori asked, shocked and terrorized.

 

“That was our host.” Gandalf said, quite unhelpfully.

 

“What!” “What?!” Bilbo squeaked beneath Thorin’s growl.

 

“He’s a skin-changer. Sometimes he’s a great big bear, and others he’s a great big man.” Gandalf said it like it was ridiculous that they didn’t already know. Elya laughed without making any noise, her shoulders shaking with the relief of being inside and away from all the creatures that wanted to kill them.

 

She poked Bombur, ignoring the by play behind them. She mimed running, then pointing at him she gave him a grin. He chuckled, still panting and sweating.   


“Dwarves are excellent sprinters.” He laughed, “Very dangerous over short distances. It’s all momentum.” He clapped his hands to his belly and nudged her with his elbow. That made her laugh for real, though it dried up with a pained grimace very quickly. She leaned against him then, feeling comfortable with the shy and somewhat bumbling brother of Ur.

 

“Let’s get some rest.” Thorin eyed the larger than normal furniture, huge even for a regular man. “We don’t know how long we will be able to stay here. Balin, you’re first watch.”

 

Gandalf interrupted, “No need for watches. We are quite safe here. Beorn will patrol his territory during the night, driving off our pursuers in the meantime. Come, sleep, all of you.” With a few grumbles from the older dwarves, they all wrapped themselves in their cloaks and laid in the straw. It was soft and smelled clean, and Elya relaxed nearly instantly, beyond grateful for being off her feet. Her legs curled up to her chest since in the wake of her relaxation the tearing in her stomach throbbed its way to the surface.

 

Belatedly, Elya hoped that she wouldn't seep through the rushed stuffing of her small clothes, but she was too tired to do anything about it. On her side, she watched with lidded sleepy eyes as everyone found their best position, Kili digging a slight hole for himself in the straw padding. He turned on his side, sighing as he sunk into the straw, catching her eyes and smiling.

 

He was remarkably attractive, she thought dimly, not for the first time. Her return smile was slow, drowning in exhaustion, but she did reach out as he did, trailing her fingers over the back of his and curling them like a child around his two smallest. They fell asleep like that, unaware of the smirks and twinkling eyes that caught sight of them.

 

Thorin rolled his eyes, steadfastly ignoring his Company’s and his youngest nephew’s foolishness. He was stuck into a corner, the most defendable part of the house, and puffed on a miraculously intact pipe, putting his smoke rings up into the ceiling to look banal and grey next to Gandalf’s wizardly bright colored ones.

 

Elya slept like the dead, only waking when the sun was slanting over her and she overheated, the brightness shining behind her eyelids. She shifted, and groaned at the pain in her sore muscles. Something grunted behind her when she stretched her legs out, and Elya frowned, wondering why her blanket was making noise. It was warm though, a hot packet held tight to her abdomen and relieving her pain that way.

 

Opening her eyes, Elya found Fili lying directly in front of her, staring with a grin stretching his lips. He lay on his side with his head propped up on one arm, his eyes glinting teasingly.

 

Taken aback by his closeness, Elya frowned at him sleepily. “Whaddyawan?” she mumbled, tongue thick and useless in her mouth. Her throat felt less raw today, but it still made her voice squeaky with a lasting rasp.

 

Fili grinned, his teeth a bright white. “Good morning sleepy head. _I_ don’t want a thing.” Then his eyes flickered just behind her, and Elya realized that her blanket was a person.

 

Elya tried to sit up only to be thwarted by the weight of the dwarvish arm and leg thrown over her. She felt a pointy nose poke at the back of her neck, and the dark hair and blue tunic she could see out of the corner of her eye identified him as Kili. Her heart melted a little bit when he snuffled in his sleep, arm tightening around her waist.

 

“You hush.” She sniped at Fili, cheeks warm. The blonde merely chuckled, using a long piece of straw to tickle the inside of Kili’s ear.

 

“Oh, you’re mean.” Elya said, unable to help laughing a bit as Kili grew increasingly irate in his sleep, slapping at his ear and hiding his face deeper behind her hair.

 

“Fili, fuck off.” Kili grumbled darkly. Elya snickered at his language, grunting when his arm squeezed tighter.

 

“Get up, sweet cheeks, else you’ll squeeze Elya so hard she’ll pop!” Fili cackled when Elya went to smack him, rolling away and leaping up like he always ran for three days straight.  

 

Kili had frozen into a stiff plank behind her, clearing his throat. Elya, too tired and too comfy to be overly embarrassed, turned her head back to find him blushing, looking at her and their position.

 

“Good morning.” Elya said quietly, regretting using her voice so much so early.

 

“Morning.” Kili answered with only the slightest embarrassment, extracting his leg from between hers and stretching to cover how he was very, very pleased to have woken up as such. He stood and stretched, bending over to touch his toes and breathing as slow as he could.

 

Elya went to Bilbo, and had a whispered conversation with him about dwarves and their peculiar morning rituals.

 

There was a loud chopping noise echoing in from outside.

 

Gandalf waved them all over, saying with a hush, “I’ll call you out two by two, we don’t want to overwhelm him with dwarves. He dislikes your race enough, I’m hoping the suspense of a good story will distract him from the sheer number of dwarves that have invaded his house. Bilbo, with me.” And the wizard swept out of the room with Bilbo nervously on his heels.

 

Dwalin grunted, peering out the window to where he could just see the shadow of the skin changer. “Do we trust him?”

 

“We did just invade his home, Dwalin.” Balin said diplomatically. “And he didn’t kill us in our sleep.”

 

Thorin grunted, looking sour at the thought of being in debt with yet another non-dwarf. “We will see how favorable he is. If not, we will rush him and escape where we came in.”

 

Elya privately thought that the entirety of the company attacking such a bear wouldn’t do very well, but it wasn’t her place and really, Thorin had been as dour to be at Rivendell as he was here.

 

A shrill whistle came from outside, and Bofur and Bombur went first. After that, the dwarves went two by two, until Fili and Kili became so impatient, they tuck an arm through both of hers and went only a minute after the last.

 

“Alright, all of you just get out here.” Boomed a deep voice just as they exited the house.  

  
Gandalf was introducing them as they came, “Ah and here’s Fili, and Kili, and our dear Elya.” Elya couldn't take her eyes off Beorn, the biggest man she had ever seen, and he was even sitting down on the chopping stump. The axe he wielded was as tall as Gandalf, with the half-moon blade shining sharp and disquieting beside him.

 

“This is not a few dwarves, Gandalf.” Beorn said, deadpan.

 

Looking as flustered as a wizard probably can, Gandalf just tilted his head a little, as if to say it’s not a _lot_ of dwarves.

 

Elya awkwardly smiled from where she was held tightly between the two Durin brothers, Beorn’s eyes catching on her before refocusing on Bilbo.

 

“Well, for a story such as that, I suppose I could offer you shelter.” Beorn said, standing. Suddenly he was twice, triple, the size of a dwarf. “I will be checking your claims, but feel free to eat and sleep here at your leisure. Do not harm any creature within or without my halls. No orc passes within my territory and lives.” Beorn’s animal eyes passed over them all once again, before he dismissed them and went back to his chopping.

 

Taken aback, the dwarves quietly reentered the house, sharing peeved or perturbed glances and shrugging. Then, they were all fed a filling meal by animals, animals! Standing on their hind legs were dogs, goats, lambs, and horses. Even the mice were bringing them cutlery. There was no meat of course, and no dwarf was dumb enough to ask for some, especially when the kind doe-eyed lambs looked at them.

 

Elya hunted down Ori, a tight pained pinch to her eyes, and they sequestered themselves as far away from Dori’s eyes as they could. Their whispering garnered a few odd looks, but since the dwarves had plenty other things to occupy their time, snooping for one, Elya managed to scrounge up the necessities she needed with Ori’s help without any hindrance. There was even ingredients for a pain relief tea that she immediately set about making. Dori noticed and then took over from her, promising to bring it to her when it was the ‘perfect temperature.’

 

“Thank you Ori.” Her voice was still forcibly quiet, due to the swelling. It was odd, the lad wasn’t much older than Kili, but he seemed so much younger. It woke a strange instinct in her to protect him, to ease his worries and pains.

 

“Anytime, Miss Elya.” Ori blushed, reverting to his shy mode of address.

 

Elya locked their arms together. “Elya, please Ori, I’m just Elya. Would you accompany me outside? I would very much like to look at what you’ve drawn of our journey.” He ducked his head, but acquiesced.

 

“Ori, why do you wear ribbons in your hair?” Elya asked, curious, enjoying the honeyed tea Dori had brought for her. It did wonders for her throat. “I see the others wear beads and metal, but you have these nice purple ribbons.”

 

Ori’s hand came up to touch one, lightly fingering it with a wistful look in his eye. “It belonged to my mother, who died giving birth to me. Dori gave them to me when I was small. I never…” he sighed, a weight falling over his shoulders, “I’ve never been good at the warrior side of being a dwarf. I’m a scribe, and this is the first time I’ve ever been out of the Blue Mountains.” He turned and looked at where Nori was snickering at Bilbo, who was being aggressively trained by an equally amused but still barking commands Dwalin.

 

Elya watched him, thinking that he wasn’t really aware of how much he was a dwarf, brave and strong, but she was silent.

 

“I wear the ribbons because I gave up on trying to be strong and dwarf like a long time ago. I know I seem weaker, especially to dwarves like King Thorin and Dwalin, but I wear my ribbons for my mother, and for Dori.” He gave a quick, cheeky smile, “And because they’re pretty.”

 

Elya matched his smile, “I think they’re pretty too. And you have it all wrong Ori, you’re just as strong as any of them, if not stronger. You came on this quest with a slingshot and your books, and you still fight with all the ferocity they have with their battle axes and swords.”

 

Ori looked at her, and she tried to show how earnest she was. Eventually, Ori bowed his head and lightly touched his forehead to hers. “Thank you, Elya.”

 

At one point, Dwalin stomped over to tell her they would be practicing with her dagger, sometime whilst they were at Beorn’s, and she swallowed an unhappy groan. Ori laughed at her sweetly, and she curled up tight in a ball, determined to be miserable and sour. It didn’t last long, especially when Ori slyly showed her a drawing he had done of Thorin and Bilbo. They spent the afternoon giggling together, turning silent when one or another dwarf passed by and starting up again just when they were out of sight.

 

They slept again that night, well fed and warm. Elya woke to Kili plastered against her back yet again, but this time there was no Fili to embarrass them about it. To be quite truthful, it was a wonderful way to wake up, and she found her own hands threaded around one of his.

 

“Breakfast!” Bilbo called to them cheerfully, perched high up on the table bench.

 

Elya and Kili’s stomachs growled at the same time, and they stumbled to their feet, yawning. Elya rubbed at her stomach, glad that the pain of the first few days was lessening and now it was just a matter of staying cleanly. After a round of good mornings, Elya blinked to find herself standing about crotch level with Beorn.

 

And he was staring at her, his bushy eyebrows drawn low over his golden eyes.

 

Elya awkwardly curtseyed for him, rasping a quiet “good morning” and “thank you.”

 

Beorn took in the rips and tears of her dress, repaired to the best of Dori’s ability but still obviously holding itself together with only a few threads. He eyed the purple bruise that marred her neck from chin to collar, and the scrapes and scabs that had so bloodied her hands.

 

“And where did you get this, sweet girl?” One of his thick fingers gently touched her chin, pulling her gaze up to his own. The breakfast table quieted, and Elya could feel all the dwarves watching them like hawks.

 

“The Goblin King.” Elya swallowed stiffly around the lump of her throat, “He didn’t like that I refused to speak.” Beorn hummed, a deep rumbling noise that shook her through her boots.

 

“And where were your companions, whilst you were being strangled to death?” Beorn wasn’t harsh in his question, but there was a solid steel behind his words. Elya quivered to hear it spoken from another’s mouth.

 

“Captured.” She replied, not dropping her eyes from where his bored into hers. “I’m glad they said nothing, else they would’ve been killed.” There was an aborted noise from the table, but neither turned to look.

 

“Hmm.” He frowned, not finding any falsehood in her eyes. Taking in her full from, from her tiny feet to the mass of brown hair on her head (which really needed a combing, she was going to ask for a brush or scissors to deal with it), trailing along the curve of her waist. He took a very deep breath in through his nose, and absurdly, horrifyingly, Elya thought that maybe he could…smell her cycle. Elya blushed, beet red, when she found some kind of appreciation in his gaze.

 

“Mr. Beorn?” She squeaked when he reached for her, picking her up by the waist. He turned and put her gently on the bench beside Bilbo, ignoring how half the dwarves had nearly thrown themselves at him for daring to touch her. Kili especially, looked like he was going to pop a blood vessel.

 

“It is unlucky, that your arm doesn't read Beorn’s Gift.” He said, sitting at the head of the table, to her right. “I would have been happy to have you as wife.” Elya was distracted by his words, blinking and blushing at his bluntness. Wife of Beorn. She looked at the man with new eyes, and wondered if she would have fallen for _him_ , if he had been the first being her eyes fell upon after waking beneath her tree. And then she realized what she had just thought, furtively glancing at Kili before dropping her eyes.

 

Kili breathed in sharply through his pointy nose, glowering at Beorn and probably would have said something stupid if not for Fili digging an elbow relentlessly into his side.

 

Between the heat of her face and the rushing of her ears, Elya backtracked and caught on something interesting. “--Gift? You can...you can read this?” She held out her arm, the sleeve long since ripped off at the elbow.

 

The dwarves were silent, Thorin especially had sat at attention and was waiting for his response. Beorn raised his eyebrows, glancing at them all before returning to her. Gandalf perked up from where he was lounging at the foot of the table.

 

“It is written with the first tongue of dwarves.” He said, “I know not the language, but my people lived before the first word was spoken from the beings that hollowed out mountains.” There was a slight disdain in Beorn’s voice, and his dark gaze was heavy. “The writing is of a tongue I preexist, therefore I read it.”

 

“What does it say?” Ori broke in, unable to wait. Dori shushed him, sitting stiffly when Beorn turned to look at the young dwarf.

 

“It reads Durin’s Gift.” Beorn rumbled, the words striking the dwarves like a mallet. “Gift for Durin’s line, Gift from Durin, Durin’s Gift.” He looked at Thorin. “A blessing from beyond the veil, given life merely for the sake of your kin.”

 

Elya’s eyes couldn’t get any wider, and she looked at the writing on her arm, almost believing she could read it now.

 

“What does that mean?” She heard Thorin speak, and her wonder extinguished like a candle flame. What use could she be to Durin’s line? She can hardly hold a sword.

 

“It means, Thorin Oakenshield, that Lord Elrond was right. Elya is important to your purpose, and the Valar themselves have blessed your journey.” Gandalf told him, and the matter was dropped, though Elya noticed the dwarves eyeing her differently now. Fili especially, had a thoughtful look on his face, so Elya escaped by delving deeply into her honey cake.

 

They were free to roam Beorn’s lands and home during the day for the week they had decided to stay, so that morning found Elya trekking out towards the meadows she had seen when they came running in. Thorin was healing ungraciously, the most injured of them all, and he chafed at staying in place for so long, especially when being hunted. She had about an hour to herself, to sit and appreciate the fresh air, the safety of it and contemplate the matter of her arm’s words before she heard boots behind her.

 

Kili.

 

“You shouldn’t go off alone,” he told her, coming to a stop and blocking the sun from her, “There should always be a dwarf nearby to protect you, if something comes up.”

 

“Well,” she said, “You’re here now. Come, sit.” She patted the grass next to her, and after a small moment, Kili sat down, sighing.

 

She took in the whip mark that still clung to his cheek, red and still looking fresh from, oh, was it only two days ago? Elya’s fingers were busy, linking flowers together in a complicated braided crown, so she nodded to his cheek.

 

“Have you gotten that looked at yet?” she said, quiet so as not to disturb the peace around them.

 

Kili gave a half-smile. “It’s only a nick, nothing to do for it except keep it clean.” His smile melted as his eyes dropped lower, to her neck.

 

“And you?” His voice was stiff, pinched, like he was barely able to speak at all.

 

Elya shrugged, aware of the mass of ugly bruises her neck and chin had become. It was sore, so sore, but Oin had looked at it and told her to just stay as relaxed as she could. Luckily, the tears in her throat had healed first, so it only panged a little bit when she swallowed.

 

“Nothing for it, just bruising. I’m lucky he didn’t snap my spine.” Elya tried to smile but failed, the incident still too close to make light of. She thought she would have died there, hung limply from the Goblin King’s fat hand.

 

Kili let out a shaky breath, “I am sorry. I am sorry that this happened to you, not only to you but to your neck, it’s…” he bit it off, shaking his head. Elya sensed something worse that her just being in danger behind those words. She remembered how tightly he had held her, how dark and black his gaze was on the one who had threatened her life.

 

“It will heal?” she offered, “Just like your cheek.”

 

Kili shook his head again, tension obvious in his shoulders and the way his fists clenched in the dirt. “No, you don’t understand, he held you by your _neck_. He injured you there, hurt you, while all of us just...just watched. Beorn was right...we should have been there.” He swallowed, fury rising up again into the set of his jaw and eyes darkening from brown to nearly black.

 

Alarmed, she reached out and put a hand on his thigh, just above his knee. She didn't say anything though, a combination of not wanting to inflict her raspy, bruised voice on him, and that she could tell he was working his way up to telling her something.

 

“The neck, the lower face, it’s all very...special to dwarves. If you haven’t noticed, our beards cover the neck most of all, as it’s our most vulnerable place. Uncle cut his beard when Smaug attacked, and keeps it short to bare his throat to show that he has little else to lose. The fact that that _scum_ put his hands on your beautiful neck, where you are most frail, it is just...an insult, an awful, awful, insult.” Kili covered her hand with his own.

 

Elya breathed out a sigh, “Well, I can’t say it didn’t frighten me something bad. I thought,” tears pricked at her eyes and she swallowed them down, “I thought I was going to die, right there, and I didn’t want to. I didn’t want to die, and I didn’t want to die like that, right there in front of you, you all when you could have done nothing.”

 

“But we could have!” Kili burst out, “We could have done something! And now you suffer for it.” His eyes were trained on her neck, pained. Elya felt like doing something daring.  

 

She took his hand where it clutched at hers, and brought it up to her neck. He flinched away, worried he may hurt her, but Elya tugged him until he was pressing his fingers and palm gently over the fragility of her neck, yellowed and purpled from the goblin king's force.

 

“We all lived, despite the odds.” Elya said, swallowing at the feeling of Kili’s large, warm hand on her. “That’s all we can ask for, now.”

 

Kili sighed, thumb lightly brushing her skin, “Yes, that’s one thing, I suppose.” His eyes only lightened slightly however, and Elya knew there was now a new level of anger he could reach, a new depth of rage that Kili harbored inside. It was intimate, his touch on her neck, and something changed in their air around them. Suddenly, Elya felt like the two of them were protected, like the world had turned just enough to give them space, room, and she knew in her heart what that meant. She knew the instant his fingers touched her neck, how her blood pulsed under his touch, knew what it meant for her.

 

And yet, she knew they couldn’t. Too soon. Not yet. Huffing a laugh to awkwardly break the tension, Elya chirped, “But the neck? Is that why everyone has such fearsome beards?”

 

Kili laughed, “You bet. Beards are very important in dwarven culture, they signify status and experience, the more fearsome the more protected your neck is. And, the more sculpted it is, the more intricate, the more attractive you are to dwarrowdam.” He leaned in with the last to whisper it, like it was a secret.

 

Elya’s eyebrows raised, “Oh is that so? So, I guess Dori is hot on the market is he?” She wasn’t quite serious, but Kili’s emphatic nod surprised her. “What, really?!”

 

“Yes.” Kili nodded solemnly, “The Ri’s are the most attractive of us all, in dwarven taste. I could barely classify as a dwarf, at all, with this.” Kili reached up and rubbed at his stubble with a self-deprecating laugh. There was an old pain in his eyes. Elya didn’t like it, she’d never seen Kili as anything less than confident.

 

Impulsively, she reached out, hesitating just short of his face. Kili had never seemed more sober, taking her hand where it hovered in the air, and pressing it against his cheek. She felt along his stubble, lips parting when he shivered at her touch, leaning into her hand. She licked her lips, watching his eyes drop to it.

 

“I don’t think it’s a bad thing. In...in human taste I think you and Fili and Thorin are all the most attractive.” Elya cleared her throat. “I think you’re very attractive.” Her voice lost nerve around halfway through, becoming quieter. Her quiet rasp didn’t diminish her meaning though, only made it more heartfelt. Her hand slipped away regretfully, fingertips just holding onto his chin. His hand followed her, and they fell between them, half clasped and half just...feeling along each other’s fingers.

 

His fingers were larger than hers, his whole hand larger in fact, and she felt delicate and soft in comparison. Kili didn’t really look her in the eye, cheeks turned pink, but Elya couldn’t quite get herself to look at him either.

 

“Thanks.” He said, plucking a flower. “I think you’re pretty...too.” His lips quirked awkwardly, and she flushed.

 

“Thanks.” She whispered, a smile playing around her mouth. She didn’t see how Kili looked at her from the corner of his eye, engrossed in the light upturn of her lips, and the way the bright sun shone in her hair.

 

“Dori’s also the strongest of all of us, you know.” Kili said suddenly, conversation flowing from him in the comfort of her presence. “Stronger even than Dwalin.”

 

“Dwalin?” Elya was skeptical, glancing back towards the house. She thought she saw a shadow at Beorn’s window, but it was empty. “You can’t be serious. He’s nearly the size of a man!”

 

Kili laughed, throwing the flower up into the air so it fell slowly, settling nearer to Elya. She snatched it and wove it into the braid she was making. “No, Dori is the strongest. I’ve never seen Dwalin win in an arm wrestling tournament if Dori was the competitor.”

 

Then he coughed, “I’m strong too, stronger than Fili. It’s the bow, you know.” He waggled his eyebrows at her, flexing his arms.

 

“Somehow I don’t believe you!” Elya laughed, poking him hard in the arm. It nearly broke her finger. She stopped, frowning in dismay, poking harder at his bicep. No, it was all muscle.

 

Kili snickered a bit, stifling it when she narrowed her eyes at him. “What are you doing?”

 

“I never believed that dwarves were made of stone, but maybe you are.” She poked him again, but this time in the side. He twitched away, and she had an inkling that he was ticklish.

 

“Stone?!” Kili drew himself up pompously, “No, we’re just made of muscle. Soon as we’re born we can lift twice our own weight!”

  

“Pft.” Elya teased. She knelt up onto her knees and in a quick move, had the flower crown around Kili’s head. “I don’t believe you.” She struck, tickling him along his side, able to only because he didn’t wear his chainmail today, cocooned in the warmth and safety of Beorn’s fields.

 

“Oh, you didn’t!” He cried, catching her up in his arms and standing, whirling her around as though she weighed nothing. He tried to tickle her back, where she hung over his shoulder, but she squirmed free, and they chased each other in the freedom of the meadows in relief. They were alive, and they felt joy in each other’s presence. Dwarves who roved the halls or garden of Beorn could hear their laughter, and smiled to see the youngest prince and their own girl so carefree once again.

 

Over in Beorn's house hidden in the shadows of the window, Thorin stood back and peered to where he could see Kili and Elya frolicking in the meadow. His mouth roved between a smile and a disapproving frown.

 

“They’re sweet on each other.” Dwalin said, behind him.

 

“I should discourage it. He is a prince, and the girl is...is…” Thorin couldn’t finish his thought.

 

“The girl, has been placed upon this world for Durin’s line.” Dwalin completed for him, all raised eyebrows and a heavy hand on his shoulder. “Seems to me, it’s been crafted by beings greater than either of us.”

 

Thorin heaved a rough sigh. “But will it last? Is it proper?” He had worries in his mind, of reclaiming Erebor and having to present Elya, a strange Valar-given vaguely dwarf-like creature, the woman for his youngest nephew. He thought of presenting her to _Dis_ , and flinched.  

 

Dwalin snorted, “Stop thinking like a king. You’ve never cared what’s proper or not, not since the dragon.” Thorin’s countenance darkened as it always did when the dragon was mentioned. A bright laugh from outside broke him out of it though, and Thorin conceded to Dwalin's point.

 

“No harm in it, laddie,” Balin said from nearby, always paying attention. “He’s happy, she’s happy, and I dare say, they’re good for each other. Elya couldn’t look any of us in the eye at the start of this venture, and Kili has found himself amid yours, his amad’s, and his brother’s influence. He’s turning into quite the dwarrow.”

 

“I am proud.” Thorin conceded, and couldn't help the small smirk when Elya managed to trip Kili right into the dirt, scurrying quickly away whilst giggling. For now, his heart was lightened.

 

“They look good together too.” Nori suddenly said, popping up out of nowhere. Dwalin jumped, though he’d never admit to it. “They’d make quite attractive children.” And Thorin’s good mood was gone, thinking about his youngest nephew bringing dwarflings into the world. Thorin despaired if they would be at all like Kili and Fili as children. That’s where all his grey hair came from.

 

Since they had such a long time without danger or needing to rush, Elya had the time to finish her little project. It was just a small figurine, a horse, roughly hewn, but this time with Bifur’s help and guidance she had managed to keep all four legs instead of accidentally hacking one or two off by mistake.

 

She had hidden it so far from her impromptu teacher, but now she considered herself done and presented it to Bifur where he sat snacking on a bench just outside the door.

 

Elya unceremoniously set it into Bifur’s hands and sat with him, waiting anxiously for his verdict. Bifur scrutinized it with knowledgeable eyes, his rough fingers going over every curve and lingering at the head where she had cut in steps to act as eyes. Eventually, after she had sat on pins and needles for several long minutes, Bifur raised his wild head and beamed at her, blue eyes sparkling.

 

He grunted something in ancient Khuzdul, and raised the horse up to their eye level, knocking his knuckles on it in several places. Nodding, Bifur returned it to her and then raised both thumbs up in approval.

 

Elya nearly squealed, laughing and throwing her arms around the intimidating dwarf, he chuckled in her ear and patted her back.

 

“So it’s good!” She pulled back to look at it herself. “Rough, I know, but I think I’m getting the hang of it.” She smiled at him, watching where he pointed out the hind quarters and back. He mimed sanding something.

 

“Making it smoother then, that’s the next step?” She asked, and Bifur nodded.

 

“Finished yer first figure?” Bofur’s cheerful voice back from behind her, and he joined them on the bench large enough for four dwarves and a hobbit. He was smoking on a new pipe, probably made in a fraction of the time it took to make her horse.

 

“Yes! Bifur said it’s good.” Elya handed it over, and watched as Bofur made much of the same motions Bifur had in looking it over.

 

“Sanding left to do, and then there’s some oils that can change the color of it.” Bofur nodded, relinquishing it back to her with a grin. Bifur said something and Bofur laughed. “He says you’ve been working on that since we’ve arrived, he’s proud of you.” Elya beamed at Bifur, knocking their shoulders together.

 

“I’m glad.”

 

Elya eyed the curve of Bofur’s stache, and noticed how it had an especial curl today, and looked almost...combed. Suddenly she remembered how utterly horrid her own hair looked, wild and messy almost like Bifur’s.

 

“Oh, Bofur?” She asked, “Could I borrow a comb or brush? I need to figure out this mop and figure out if it just needs cutting off.” Elya was unprepared for the reaction that came from both sides of her, both dwarves violently refusing.

 

“Now don’t go cutting anything off, Missy,” Bofur told her, rather sternly actually, “No dwarrow worth his salt cuts his hair off for vanity’s sake.”

 

“Really?” Elya blinked, “Kili told me earlier that beards are very important to dwarf culture, but that Thorin chose to cut his off.”

 

“Aye,” Bofur nodded solemnly, giving his comb to Bifur who unceremoniously shoved her to the floor off the bench so he could get at her hair with single minded determination. “Thorin had great reason, grief and pain and homelessness to drive him to it, and wears it as a badge of honour.” Elya made herself more comfortable as Bifur started to work at her hair, not hacking or ripping as she probably would have done to get through it but separating it to sections.

 

“Gentle cousin, gentle.” Bofur reminded Bifur, though the axe headed dwarf hadn't yet harmed her.

 

“Do the beads mean anything? You yourself don't have the longest beard but I suppose your moustache more than makes up for it?” Elya asked, curious, before realizing that she was discussing something very important to dwarves and stuttered out, “Unless it’s personal, I’m sorry, you don’t need to answer, I -”

 

Bofur laughed, “Hush girly, its fine. No other way to learn about your chosen race than to ask right?” He winked at her and she couldn’t help smile, not quite understanding what he meant but wanting to know anyways.

 

“Aye, the more finely crafted a beard, like my moustache and Gloin’s braids, even Fili’s are all marks of different crafts and paths. I have the curls and whimsy of a toymaker, which is my trade now. I was a miner, which is what this bead means,” he pulled a small dark stone of a bead from...somewhere, and held it for her to look at. It had a shape on it, something like the head of a pick axe. “But when we immigrated to the Blue Mountains and Bifur got his injury, we all changed our paths.”

 

“So Gloin’s path would be?” Elya asked tilting her head to the side for Bifur’s questing fingers and comb tip. “Warrior?”

 

“No, actually, Gloin’s a banker!” Bofur grinned at her look. “Quite well to do him and Oin, basically funded this entire journey. His beard style was also made by his wife, Glinda who changed the way he wore his braids when they got married.”

 

“So it’s a wife’s job to braid the husband's hair?”

 

“When just married, yes, until the husband gets the hang of his new style. Fili’s braids though do signify him as warrior, and as heir. He’s been trained for royal council, and for ruling one day after Thorin passes.” Bofur’s eyes dimmed at such a thought.

 

“I never asked…” Elya was tentative, “Why would Thorin bring along his only two heirs on a journey with a dragon at the end? Isn’t that...risky?”

 

Bofur wobbled his hand in the air. “Something like that. It’s a risk that the royal line may reach its end trying to reclaim Erebor, but it also puts more backing behind Fili and Kili’s legitimacy if the mountain was to be retaken. While their mother made an awful ruckus about it, they were both determined to come.”

 

Elya made an ‘O’ with her mouth, and then since he seemed able and willing to answer all her questions she put forth one that had been quietly festering since she had thought of it.

 

“Why does Kili not wear any braids?” She frowned, remembering the look in his eye when speaking about his beard. “He said he’s...barely a dwarf with his beard. I didn’t like that, but he seemed to believe it, and quickly changed the subject.”

 

Bofur was silent, a sad look in his eye, and Elya bowed her head, turning it so Bifur could reach the other side of her head. From this angle she could see where most of the warrior dwarves were drilling in Beorn’s lawn, Thorin, Balin and Dwalin attempting to teach Bilbo how to hold and swing his sword while Fili and Kili took increasingly riskier and more difficult shots with a bow. Kili was winning.

 

“Our young prince had a tough time of it growing up in the Blue Mountains,” Bofur started quietly, “despite his royal lineage, his lack of beard and general...slimness set him apart from the rest of the dwarrows his age. He was teased quite awfully, as I understand it, rumors behind his back and to his face calling him half-blood, elf-boy, and a waste of dwarrow skill. He fights hard to be seen as worthy to be part of Thorin’s family, and even to seem as dwarvish as possible. Lads half his age have beards larger and fuller than his stubble. He wears no braids because he feels he has not earned them.”

 

“I can’t see Fili being very happy with something like that happening to his brother.” Elya said quietly. Bifur stumbled to a stop, fingers finding something small and round in her hair, the braid and the bead. Elya tensed. He didn’t make any noise about it however, merely tucking it slightly behind her ear and leaving it be, much to Elya’s relief.

 

“No, Fili has done his best to protect and love his brother in replacement of the general public, but under the heavy gazes of his mother, his uncle, and the expectations of his line, Kili never felt wholly a part of it. I think that’s why he chose the bow as his specialty, an elvish weapon, spitting back at those who call him unnatural.”

 

Bifur was braiding her hair now, plaiting it up and back, out of the way

 

Elya hummed sadly. She refrained from saying anything though, thinking that anything to leave her mouth would be pitying and weak, and Kili deserved more than that.

 

“My, that’s a good looking coif you have now, love!” Bofur exclaimed, breaking the gloomy atmosphere. Bifur grunted and leaned back as well, patting her shoulder. Elya put one hand up and checked, the glowing bead had been tucked around and into the new braids, showing the braid but not the bead.

 

She grinned at Bifur in gladness, a rush of affection filling her for them both brother’s Ur.

 

“Thank you, Bifur!” She could feel how the braids were simple but tight, taming her mane of brown hair and turning it back into an artful design, though leaving two strands to frame her face.

 

Bifur rumbled something and stood, patting her head once more as he left. Bofur grinned around his pipe.

 

“Beautiful.” He translated, “Beautiful little sister. You're an honorary Ur now, Elya.”

 

Elya swallowed what could have been a watery mess of tears, and smiled, throwing her arms around Bofur in such a hug that they nearly fell off the bench.

 

“What’s this now?” Fili exclaimed, having come up to the door, training apparently over. “Our Elya has been cleaned up! No longer the wild tree-born girl we found, hey Kili? _Kili_?” Silence.

 

Elya clambered off Bofur, still grinning and turned to face the princes, Fili who was smiling appreciatively and a little mischievously, and Kili who was looking at her like he’d never seen her before.

 

“Is it nice?” She asked, suddenly nervous for some reason. Bofur clapped a hand to Fili’s shoulder and they left, whispering and giggling slightly together. “Bifur did it.”

 

“It’s…” Kili started, then cleared his throat roughly. “It’s lovely. You look lovely.” He smiled, eyes bright and yet soft. Elya touched it again, following the smooth lines of braids and turned her red cheeks away. She didn’t see how Kili’s eyes fell to her newly bared neck and swallow; her pale, white neck nearly healed.

 

Elya was sad to leave Beorn’s house, to leave the safety of it, the sereneness. In their time there all of them had healed, Bilbo had regained some of his hobbit weight (to the great interest of Thorin, it seemed), and they all felt so much more rested. The last night of their stay, Elya helped the animals set the table and pet as many of them that approached. The dwarves started a singing competition, with Gandalf laughing and puffing on his pipe in the back.

 

Bilbo himself sang the drinking song of his Shire, about the Green Dragon tavern, and laughed merrily even when Beorn poked him in the stomach, calling him a little bunny. Bunny is perhaps better than ferret, as the trolls had called him.

 

“If you ever tire of dwarves, all my animals like you.” Beorn said simply, as if it wasn’t something akin to a marriage proposal. Atop the pony he had provided for their use, Elya blinked and cleared her (newly healed) throat, aware of the dwarves staring at them from all sides.

 

“I thank you, Master Beorn.” She said carefully, “In another life I would probably have taken you up on that offer. But I was placed here for dwarves, and I like them, truly.” Beorn grunted and nodded, moving off in that slow powerful lope of his.

 

“In another life, huh?” Kili asked, a little stiffly from atop his own pony. Fili was ahead of them, looking like he was trying to appear like he wasn’t eavesdropping.

 

Elya shifted, uncomfortable. They were riding bareback, but she didn’t think that was the source of her shifting. “Well, I suppose. I was basically made by the Valar for dwarves, right? If I had been made for skin changers, things would be different.”

 

“But that doesn’t...you must have been a person, before that, shouldn’t you have? Grown up somewhere?” Kili asked the question that haunted her heart.

 

Elya looked down, absurdly feeling ashamed. “I don’t know, Kili. I don’t know.”

 

Kili looked troubled, and she felt uncertain about where this conversation was leading. She need not worry, as Thorin made them move out before she could say more, and they moved too fast to comfortably talk anyways. At times there was a shape following them, large and hulking but too far away to see clearly. A large bear; Beorn was making sure they made it safely. Or at least, that they didn’t make off with his ponies.

 

That night they camped in the plains between Beorn’s house and Mirkwood, the night sky speckled with beautiful stars and the light breeze cooling on Elya’s skin. Despite their awkward morning, Kili still lay nearby her on his own bed roll, and gave her a smile before sleep took him.

 

Mirkwood was not pleasant.

 

Even standing on the edge of it, all of them could tell it was sick, dark and foreboding. Elya shuddered, feeling cold though the weather was being kind, and set about helping Bombur distribute the food stuffs Beorn had so generously provided them.

 

“How large is the forest?”

 

Bombur shrugged, “Theoretically in a straight line I think the road down south would have taken us three weeks. No telling how long the elf path will take, or what we’ll find up here, so close to Thranduil’s kingdom.”

 

“I’ve heard that name before,” Elya stood to straighten her spine, feeling as strong and healthy has she had since this venture started, “An elven king?”

 

“Yes, lassie,” Balin said, snowy beard as sculpted as ever, “He’s the same Elven king who refused our people aid, when the dragon came.”

 

Elya frowned, “But you live so close to one another. He didn’t offer even shelter? Food? Healers?”

 

“Nothing came from the elves that day. Nor any day since.” Thorin suddenly spoke from behind them, eyes unreadable. Elya nearly startled, turning to face him. He didn’t grimace at her, or sneer, or dismiss her from his mind as he was wont to do at the start of the journey, and instead merely picked up her pack, lighter like Bilbo’s and helped her into it.

 

A little stunned, Elya thanked him and then shared a look with Kili, who came up to her elbow when Thorin moved on.

 

“I think it’s because you look more dwarvish.” He mused, rubbing a hand along his stubble. His eyes flickered to her, then back to her hair, then to her neck and away. Elya blinked, and hid her smile.

 

“I look more dwarvish? Is it the hair?”

 

Kili nodded, “And the clothes.” His ears were pink as he gestured with a hand to what she wore, a bit of a collaborated outfit of pieces borrowed from the other dwarves and cloth from Beorn, who really didn’t wear clothing that much at all. The coat was overly large, but the trousers fit well, and her shirt, the remains of the hobbit shirt Bilbo had given her so long ago, was fixed up with new dwarvish sleeves. Her skirts were in her bag now, a little unnecessary in a forest where no creatures other than the dwarves and the wildlife would look upon her. “Looks good.”

 

“I’m glad.” Elya smiled, distracted when Gandalf came rushing out of the trees like hell was on his heels, calling for his horse.

 

“You’re not leaving?” Bilbo asked incredulously, and also a little frightened. Indeed, Elya felt the same. Suddenly Mirkwood was much more menacing with the thought that they wouldn’t have the wizard with them.

 

But Gandalf didn’t stay much longer than a few minutes, riding off and only stopping on the crest of a hill to yell back at them, “Don’t stray from the path!” In his deep booming wizard’s voice. And then both Gandalf and Beorn were gone, and the dwarves, Elya and Bilbo were by themselves, entering Mirkwood.


	6. Mirkwood

The first two days weren’t all that bad. Sure, the woods were dark and there was a strange atmosphere around them, quiet and stifled like there was cotton shoved in their ears but they could see each other, and they could see their feet. Their food and water was rationed and they made good time every day, having nothing else to do but walk single file on the cobbled path.

 

But then the third day crested and they couldn’t tell if the sun had come up. The trees stayed the same gloomy dark, _murky_ even, and Elya realized why the Greenwood had changed names. The fire they began only once, and they were surrounded and buffeted with massive blind moths that thumped heavily against their heads, fluttering in their ears and faces. Eventually Thorin bit out a rough order and the fire was extinguished, as was the company's hopes for a pleasant travel through the forest.

 

The eyes that stared at them that night were unnerving. Silent, glowing pairs of eyes that watched them whilst they slept. Elya thought that maybe the first fire had drawn them, and now those eyes were following them through the forest, waiting for them to let down their guard. The entire company grew moody and short, as they never really slept well with those eyes surrounding them.

 

A few days later, the wood became black, pitch black, as if it was pure night at all hours and sunlight was a mere myth. Elya stumbled and fell into whichever dwarf was stationed in front of her, her eyes began to hurt because she held them open so wide for so long, desperately searching for something to see, anything, even the glint of an eyeball. At one point she bumped into Bilbo, and after a whispered, tense conversations he learned that he too couldn’t see a thing.

 

The dwarves didn’t seem to get it though, not until she was sat down in the center of their group, and Bofur had apparently been waving her portion of the bread and cheese in her face.

 

“Elya? Love?” He said, a curious lilt to his voice. She turned and stared blankly at where his voice came from, the beat of silence following letting her know that her eyes were just off enough.

 

“Ye really can’t see a thing, can ye?” He said, seeming surprised.

 

“No.” Elya bit out somewhat shortly, irritated that none of them had been taking her seriously when she said she couldn’t see anything.

 

“What, so you can’t see how many fingers I’m holding up?” Kili asked from somewhere to her left.

 

Elya sighed. “Kili, I can’t see _you_ , I can’t see my hand two inches in front of my face, I can’t see _anything_. It’s black.” Another beat of silence and Bilbo spoke as well, sighing out his secret.

 

“I can’t see anything either. It’s like the trees are trying to block out any kind of light. How is it that you all can? Is it a dwarf thing?”

 

“Our eyes are suited to darkness, living in stone halls as we do, but to not see anything? It is dark, yes, but I can still see the shape of the dwarves nearby me.” Balin said from somewhere.

 

“It’s not natural, it’s not.” Bilbo nearly whimpered, “Hobbits have good eyesight. We’re earth people, we like plants and trees and growing things, but this forest isn’t growing! It refuses to let me see, like it's, like it's pulling a blindfold over my eyes.”

 

“That’s how I feel.” Elya added, voice quiet and small in the face of having her thoughts spoken aloud by another. “It’s like I’m forbidden to see the sickness here, I don’t know if it's because of the forest or because of...something else.”

 

They all fell into an awkward, unnerved silence, and Elya got the impression the dwarves were exchanging glances around their heads.

 

“Hmm.” Thorin broke the silence, “So that is why you two stumble and fall so often, you cannot see the roots or stones to step over them.”

 

“Yes, basically.” Elya responded when it looked like Bilbo wasn’t going to. There was the sound of someone getting up and moving somewhere, and then Thorin spoke again from a different spot than before.

 

“Kili, Fili, stay nearby the girl. Master Baggins, you will remain by either myself or Dwalin until you can see again. Beorn said the path lightens somewhere around the center of the forest, but we still have many days until we reach the enchanted river.” There was a slight hobbitish noise, stifled and high pitched. Smirking slightly to herself, Elya wondered whether Thorin had moved to Bilbo’s side to act as the hobbit’s guide and protector. It was the sort of thing Thorin would do.

 

Elya nearly startled out of her skin when a large body sat heavily next to her, knees and shoulders and elbows knocking against hers. Another body sat opposite, and Elya thought silently that maybe the second was Fili, having only patted her shoulder with one hand. Iit was Kili on the other that sat so close they were nearly pressed from hip to shoulder.

 

“Brother dearest, what’s wrong with your face?” Fili asked, amused. Elya could almost imagine the sly smile on his face, the one that creases his eyes and causes his beard to grin with the turn of his lips.

 

Kili shrugged, lying back onto his bedding, having moved it along with him. “Just making sure Elya couldn’t see anything, of course.”

 

Elya turned her head between them, even though she couldn’t lay eyes on them. “What, what face was he making?”

 

Fili’s shoulders shook in suppressed laughter, and he only rocked his shoulder into her. “Oh nothing you need worry about, sweet girl.” The nickname has followed her since Beorn’s, and Fili seemed to have taken it as a slight insult that the great skin-changer had used it before any of them had.

 

Elya harrumphed, but relaxed when Kili put his arm around her, touching lightly up and down her spine in a mesmerizing dance. He seemed to be writing something, but she couldn’t read it, and the movement only made her sleepy.

 

After the second time she nearly fell over, head heavy on her knees, Kili sat slightly up to draw her back and down to lie beneath the blanket piles Fili and he had thrown about themselves. Elya sighed tiredly and settled in, thinking that if they could, Kili and Fili would sleep in a nest of blanket and pillow, much like they did to her room in Rivendell that one night they snuck in.

 

Kili smoothed the hair out of her face and turned on his side close enough that she could hear his breathing. He slipped his hand beneath her shoulders and it delved under her neck and into her hair. His questing fingers reached the small braid where the glowing bead rested, hidden in the formation Bifur had left her with. His hand jerked, as if he had forgotten it was there, but then he wrapped it around his fingers a few times and just...left his hand there, pillowing her neck.

 

Elya was comfy, and Kili’s hand was as warm as ever. His touch was a comforting presence letting her know that he was there, the broad expanse of Fili’s back against her arm equally comforting. Waking up was nearly stifling, as the heat of both dwarf bodies had warmed the blanket piles and Elya had been nearly crushed between them. Kili was half on top of her, his mouth pressed against the crown of her head.

 

But, as she fought herself free to take a breath of fresher (though not by much as the forest was nearly as stifling as the Durin brothers), Elya melted when both brothers curled into her spot, seeking her out and grasping sleepy fingers against her skirts. She knew she wasn’t going back to sleep, so she stayed seated, hands gently running through brown and blonde hair. Once snores were growing less common, and the dwarves were shifting more to her ears, Elya crawled out and away and prevailed upon Ori to help her go relieve herself.

 

Although still finding it mildly embarrassing, the poor dwarf had stumbled upon her in her own bloody female mess, so he was a better option than say, Dwalin.

 

Dori protested only a little bit, but as none of them were going much further than behind a single tree, Ori stuttered to cut him off and locked arms with her.

 

“Thanks Ori.” Elya whispered.

 

“Your welcome, Elya.” He whispered back, sweet and mild mannered. She thought back to his explanation about his ribbons, and decided that Ori was one of her closest friends.

 

Walking in the darkness of Mirkwood was hell, but after three days of zero light, there was a change in direction and Elya could barely make out silhouettes. Bilbo breathed a sigh of relief, finally able to identify who each dwarf shape was.

 

And then they reached the river, and it bled silently through the trees like a mass of dark sludge, acting like no river Elya had seen yet on this journey. Thorin barked at Bofur not to touch it, and their company stood awkwardly on the edge staring into the blackness, unsure on how to cross.

 

“There’s a boat!” Bilbo said, “I think it’s just pulled up on the far side.”

 

“How far would you say?” Thorin asked, squinting.

 

“Not twelve yards, I think.”

 

“Closer than I would have thought, it looks like it could be thirty.” Thorin mused, hand rubbing through his beard. “Fili, grab your grappling hooks and see if you can land it, we’ll pull it across.”

 

Fili took three tries to make it, the hollow thud of the metal on wood making them all hold their breath. His gentle pulls soon caught and Kili and Gloin joined him in pulling the boat off the far side and through the water.

 

Elya couldn’t see it until it hit the bank, and then she was quickly ushered into it alongside Thorin and Bilbo.

 

The boat sat frighteningly low in the water, and Elya eyed the edge warily, sitting still and small in the center. Clambering out was nerve wracking, as every move of their bodies sent the boat warbling, threatening to tip. On the other side, safely, Elya looked back and was weirded out to find she couldn't see anyone, but she could hear them.

 

“Keep an eye on the trees.” Thorin told her and Bilbo then, having secured the boat again for the others to pull across.  

 

Elya didn’t know how much help she would be, but she did as asked, watching the dark expanse where she knew sickly, black wooded trees rose tall and knotted. They crossed the river slowly, leaving Bombur until the very last. There was a white flash of movement across the river, and Elya cried out at the same time as several others.

 

A great white shining elk had leapt the entirety of the river, jumping directly over Bombur’s head. Kili shot off an arrow, and the elk skittered out of their way, disappearing in an instant. Bombur however, was so startled that he stood and wavered in the boat, just barely on the bank. He fell with a great splash in the water, and it sucked him down and under the surface.

 

Both Bofur and Bifur let out great yells, jumping after him and just barely grabbing hold of him, dragging him out of the water with great heaves.

 

“Bombur!” Bofur shook him. “Bombur, wake up!”

 

But the large dwarf was asleep, completely passed out. Everyone stood for a moment, confused, before Thorin jerked forward.

 

“The river, it’s enchanted! Get out of your wet clothes!”

 

The two did as instructed, stripping down to nothing in a flash. They paused for a second, waiting to see if they would fall into sleep like Bombur did, but after a few minutes of nothing more than a few itchy noses, they all relaxed.

 

The forest became their enemy after that. Elya thought maybe it had something to do with the elk they shot at, and for disturbing the river. Regardless, as much as the light brightened and Elya could now see the company, everyone’s moods and minds worsened each day.

 

Bofur became silent. The normally cheerful dwarf turned somber and downcast, keeping nearby his cousin even as he grimaced and grunted in trying to carry him. Thorin and Dwalin grew irritable, the latter barking orders at the other dwarves, especially Nori, who replied with dark mutters.

 

Everyone was exhausted, especially those who took turns in carrying the sleeping Bombur. Their glowers and snarks grew worse and more vicious once it became clear they were nearly out of food.

 

“Is there no end to this miserable forest?!” Thorin growled when they stopped once, snarling at the tree boughs like a beast in a cage.

 

Elya collapsed next to Bombur, leaning on his side and sighing. “Come on, Bombur, what’s with the smile? I suppose you’re having a good dream?”

 

Of course there was no answer, but Elya was expecting something like a snore, a grunt, at least. Nothing.

 

She laid her head against his chest and watched the other dwarves rustle and snipe at one another, at one point a scuffle occurring between Dori and Nori, with Ori and Kili in between. Fili, she noticed, suddenly appeared between them all, blocking the way to his brother and stood with that same easy going, friendly grin. And yet, even he had a pinched look around his eyes.

 

“Whatever good dream it is, it can’t be better than being here with us, can it?” She said quietly into his beard, curled up tight and wishing everyone would stop. “Then again,” she watched Bifur attempt to attack a tree, rage and pain evident in his eyes before Bofur could calm him.

 

“He hasn’t said a word for days.” She confessed. “Bofur can’t seem to smile. Thorin is a pillar of strength, but even he has limits and he can’t make food appear from nowhere. I can’t, I can’t help at all either. I can’t hunt, or gather food in a place like this.” She buried her face deeper, dozing while the dwarves roved, exhausted and hungry, but unhappy and restless.

 

Eventually she must have fallen asleep right there leaning against Bombur’s belly because the next thing she knew, she was being lifted. Strong arms and a scent of wood, steel, and the oils he used to fletch his arrows, Kili walked her over to where Fili was already slumped beneath their blankets.

 

“Have you eaten?” He asked her quietly, practically tucking her in.

 

Elya shook her head, “I can’t feel hungry.”

 

Kili sat, looking fairly helpless with his fingers tangled in her hair again. She reached up and took his hand, bringing it to her lips to kiss his beaten knuckles.

 

Roughhewn, wide, and with short bitten fingernails, Kili’s hands were very dwarfish, and hers looked practically like a child next to him. Tears filled her eyes suddenly, and she hiccupped.

 

“Sorry.” She squirmed so her back was to him, smothering herself to keep the rest down. “Just being emotional.”

 

Kili sighed behind her, and lay down, pressing tight up behind her and digging his face in the place between her shoulder and chin. His arm went around her and his shoulder bunched, Elya felt cocooned and relaxed, tangling her ankles around one of his. Her tears still came, small sobs shuddering her body.

 

“It’s this place.” He muttered darkly, “This awful forest. It’s twisting all of our minds.”

 

He rubbed his chin against her slightly, and she felt both the point of his nose and the roughness of his stubble against her skin.

 

“Cry, Elya, cry right here. Just not when everyone’s awake. Your cheer keeps us going you know. You and Bilbo’s. Reminds us that we’re dwarves and we should be able to handle being under a few stupid twigs.” He smiled slightly at her laughing hiccup, and relaxed backwards, pulling her with him.

 

Elya turned, hands sliding up his chest to rest on his neck, scratching her nails through his beard. “Okay Kili. With you.” She whispered, tears still falling but now soaking into his tunic.

 

His arms tightened on her, and they spent the night like that, quiet and solemn but with each other. Thorin woke after a handful of hours, and looked to see where his company lay. He frowned when he stumbled upon Kili and Elya wrapped up as they were. He felt the need to speak with Kili about what was appropriate or not, but then again, if they found comfort in this horrible place, who was he to argue?

 

“They’re very sweet. Let them be, at least for a bit.” Bilbo said, coming up to his elbow like a ghost. Only Thorin’s impeccable self-control kept him from screeching like a dwarfling, and he silently cursed Hobbit quietness.

 

He grunted, and moved on, nudging Fili awake for his watch. The blonde grumbled, rubbed his eyes, but popped up. He found Kili and Elya as they lay, and a soft smile crossed his face, one Thorin had only ever seen directed at his little brother. Fili lifted the blankets around them both to cover Elya’s shoulders, rubbing a soft palm over both hers and Kili’s hair.

 

Bilbo was the only one to witness Thorin’s soft smile.

 

Elya was happy to wake to Kili’s tunic and chest pillowing her, and to hear that Bombur woke up that same morning.

 

“Bombur!” She said, smiling and wrapping her arms around him where he sat petulantly on the ground.

 

“Hello dearest.” He hugged her back, “I only remember you as the dirty girl from Bag End, but I recognize those braids anywhere. Bifur got at you did he?”

 

Elya nodded, a little bashful. Bombur merely patted her hand and groaned, climbing to his feel.  

 

“I was having a wonderful dream!” And he proceeded to tell her about the feast he had dreamt, even as they walked onwards.

 

After the third time her belly rumbled at the thought of the food he was describing, Elya groaned.

 

“Bombur, were we all there with you?” She asked.

 

He paused. “No, I don’t remember all that much other than the spread.”

 

Elya hummed, “I bet that was lonely then, imagine if we had all been there! It would have been Bilbo’s pantry all over again!”

 

Bombur took a second to think about it. “I suppose it would be wouldn’t it?” He heaved a great sigh, one hand on his belly. She wondered if he felt their hunger more keenly because he was so used to eating more food. He shook his head and carried on, eyes downcast. Elya felt for him, but knew any longer on his current topic and someone would have been harder on him to stop.

 

Behind them, Nori sent her a quick thumbs up for getting him to stop talking about such delicious food. Ahead, Thorin called a halt and seemed to be looking at something above the treetops.

 

That’s also about when they lost the path. Nori stopped dead at a chasm, and they fanned out trying to find it again, someone asking “Are we lost?”

 

Thorin sent a glare to them all, daring them to say it again. It took one eyebrow raise from Balin however for him to succumb, and he sighed.

 

“If only I could see where the sun was coming from, I could tell which direction we’re moving.” he groused, sending his dark eyes up to the trees.

 

Elya giggled for some reason, finding the tickling of the webs against her skin to be utterly hilarious. Everything was woozy, and she wondered if there was some kind of drug being emitted from the trees.

 

Kili asked Ori something, but then was overtaken by Dori, who flew in flustered and concerned, the look in his eyes a little wild. Fili once again appeared to push him back a bit, never far from his brother’s side. Then they all descended into absolute anarchy. Safely ensconced away from them all, Elya peered upwards with a frown. There was a weird noise buzzing somewhere, but it was too low to identify.

 

“Here now,” Bofur said, a little dreamily. He picked something up off the ground, “There’s dwarves from the blue mountains in here with us! This pouch is just like mine.”

 

“That’s because it is yours. We’re going around in circles. Someone should climb up and see where we are!” Bilbo said, frustratingly trying to be heard above the din of bickering dwarves.   

 

“Silence!” Thorin boomed, quieting them all in an instant. He whispered something to Dwalin, making the tall dwarf straightened and glance around, his armored hands grasping the staff of his axes.

 

“Well, Master Baggins, get climbing.” Thorin raised his eyebrows expectantly. Bilbo paused, then grumbled, heading to a tree that had great roots that wrapped all the way up its trunk. Thorin shook his head, but did keep a close eye on how the hobbit scrambled up the side of the tree like a squirrel. Dwarves weren’t meant for climbing trees.

 

The attack came while everyone was watching Bilbo or otherwise sitting around vulnerable and unprepared. Elya herself didn’t see them coming until something speared into her side. It hurt for an instant, before the venom took hold and the stinger’s removal felt like it was happening to someone else. She collapsed, hearing several of the dwarves start to swear, heard Dwalin give a war cry. They made a fuss, trying to fight the mass of spiders charging down at them.

 

The one which had pierced her was huge, entirely oversized, and larger than a cow. It crawled atop her prone form and clicked its pincers menacingly. She couldn't move, her vision swam, and she thought she heard Kili cry out her name, but it was lost in the clicking and a strange, sickly voice saying “ _Juicy! Juicy_!”

 

And then blackness took over.

 

She floated, swimming in a sea of strange light, feeling utterly alone and as though her stomach floated unsettlingly beside her.

 

There were noises, but nothing she could understand, and it felt like invisible arms buffeted her all over. And then there was a hole cut in the white light, and Bofur’s face came into view, calling to her. She swam towards the opening, glad to see him and hoping he could find some of that tea of Dori’s that helps nausea.

 

Reality slammed into her like a hammer, sending her careening to the side to throw up the contents of her stomach, bile and foam. Bofur pet her hair, tugging the sticky white web away from her as best he could, his hands shaking with the same ill feeling she had.

 

“Come on, love,” he was saying under the ringing of her ears, “no time to lay about.”

 

Elya gurgled and retched again, frighteningly cold.

 

“Shh, shh,” Bofur hushed, worried, “Oin, when you can find your feet again come look at the lass. She’s worse off than the rest of us.”

 

The healer darted forward, ear trumpet gone, but bag still on hand. He checked her forehead, then gently lifted the edge of her shirt.

 

Bofur swore at the sight of her wound, putting a hand to her eyes to stop her from looking at it.

 

“What, what is it?” Kili asked, scrambling from where he and Fili had been cut down, still peeling off the webbing. He wavered on his feet, almost drunkenly, before falling next to them and gaping at the new hole in Elya’s stomach.

 

“She doesn't have the thickness of skin like we do, and the venom courses through her faster.” Oin said, almost mumbling. He tipped a small vial into her mouth, and Elya had to stop herself from spitting it out. It was cold in the way mint was on the tongue, and spread from her throat throughout her body.

 

Kili lifted her head and sat her up so Oin could wrap bandages around her middle, Elya whined and tried to escape, still dizzily swimming in her mind.

 

“Shh, I got you, I got you.” Kili whispered to her, and when it came time to stand and regroup he put her arm over his neck and stood with her leaning on him, taking her weight.

 

“Kili.” Elya gasped, clutching his shoulder and her side, unable to figure out if her feet were touching the ground.

 

“Du Bekar!” Thorin shouted from somewhere, but Elya could only blearily see Kili grit his teeth and catch a sword someone threw to him. He glanced at her, hitching her up higher, and Elya drowned in the darkness of his eyes.

 

The spiders attacked, and the dwarves were scattered.

 

Kili managed to fend off two with his sword before one tripped him up, sending them both down. Elya fell, the sickness pulling all strength from her, and screamed when something caught her foot and dragged her back. She turned, kicking as best she could, aiming for the black cesspools that were the spider’s eyes. She got a boot in one, and it squealed releasing her. She turned to her stomach and tried to crawl away, but it followed.

 

It stood above her, pincers about to crush her neck, stinger about to spear her again. Elya knew she would die with another hit like that, and clawed her way in the dirt to do something, _something_ , even though she had seconds left.

 

Then the spider was knocked sideways, screeching, and she saw Kili’s boots stand above her. He had no weapon and leaves in his hair, but his teeth were grimaced in rage and he had hold of two of the spider’s legs. In a wrench so strong she was shocked he had it in him, Kili turned and twisted and pulled the spider’s legs straight off.

 

It stumbled, screamed and fell, trying to flee. Kili stooped and caught Elya up in his arms, lifting her and trying to get her behind him. She panted in his ear, but cried out when she saw a spider gearing up behind him.

 

Shouts and swears were flying from all sides, and then swooping in like an avenging angel, a tall red haired woman, an elf, sent arrows and knives into the brains of two of the spiders cornering them.

 

Kili jerked, turning to follow the knife that went sailing by them, finding the spider trying to sneak up behind them.

 

The elf warrior landed on a spider and proceeded to gut it, each movement precise and vicious.

 

“Here, throw me a knife!” Kili yelled to her, eyes on a spider that angrily hissed and bunched itself to charge. “A knife, something!”

 

“If you think I’m giving you a weapon, dwarf, you must be insane.” The woman bit out, voice clear and bright even as she murdered several arachnids. She finished with them, the forest falling silent as the other elves ran off the spiders attacking their friends.

 

Elya breathed as deeply through her nose as she could, clinging to Kili’s shoulders and watching wide eyed as the elf maiden straightened and cleaned her weapons, facing them with raised eyebrows. Kili grumbled, but he did have a tilt to his lips. Even ill, Elya knew that the elf had impressed him and felt utterly in awe of her herself.

 

But then, a bubble of nausea rose up into her throat and she clasped a hand over her mouth, turning and collapsing to puke out nothing but spit and bile. Kili held her hair, clasping her to him gently, and she could feel him tense when the elf approached.

 

“She is ill?” she asked.

 

“Spider sting,” he replied, voice tight.

 

Elven voices called, and the female elf knelt as Elya’s side. Kili’s hands clenched, then released, as the elf only had slight worry and confusion in her eyes.

 

“She is not a dwarf?”

 

“No.”

 

Elya snorted at his reticence, spitting out excess saliva. “Kili, she just saved our lives.”

 

“I guess.” Kili didn’t sound entirely thankful for it though. The elf didn’t take it personally, and only gestured for Kili to get Elya standing.

 

“We will get her medical attention. Our healers are more than proficient with the venom of these spiders.” She stood and waited for them. When she had a hold of herself, Elya pinched Kili’s arm where it rested on her hip.

 

He twitched. “Thank you.” He ducked his head in a slight bow, and glanced up at the elf. She looked surprised, as much as an elf’s poker face could.

 

“Tauriel.” a male voice called, and a cold blue eyed blonde elf walked forward, waving them on. “Bring them forward.”

 

Elya and Kili joined the other dwarves milling about and being relieved of their weapons. Fili, amused and slightly smug, was challenging an elf with his eyes to find all the knives he had hidden around his body. Elya sent the elf some luck, as she herself had been poked and prodded by his knives every time the dwarf had hugged her.

 

Elya nearly fell, stumbling over a root, before Kili caught her. The blonde elf, Legolas, as Tauriel called him, eyed her with his piercing blue eyes, taking in her lack of beard, her wound, and the way her eyes refused to focus.

 

“This female, is a dwarf spawn?” he asked. Elya thought he wasn’t quite looking to insult, well, he probably didn’t mind if he did insult her, but he was honestly curious. And he seemed to think of dwarves as lesser than, as he looked to Tauriel to explain rather than asking them directly. Kili bristled, but a severe glance from Thorin subdued him.

 

“She is injured from the spider’s sting,” Tauriel said, “I will vouch for her to the healers.”

 

Legolas huffed lightly, and then whirled, sending out orders for them all to move. The dwarves weren’t prodded so to speak, but the march of the elves kept them stumbling to catch up. Elya was still hanging of Kili’s arm, and needed help clambering over the fallen logs and stones that the elves simply leapt onto and over.

 

On one pass, she realized that she couldn't see the small auburn headed hobbit, and felt a flash of fear for Bilbo, left alone in this dark forest.

 

The gate to the elven kingdom sat above a raging river, and yet entered into a ridge side. Curious, Elya never thought that elves would live in a mountain. It was airy however, and the wooden structures within the great halls of Thranduil’s kingdom whirled and rose up like trees themselves, beautifully crafted. As they approached the King’s throne Elya was distracted by the effect of the great antlered tree that clawed its way from the center. Within it sat Thranduil, the most graceful and cold beauty Elya had ever seen, but she stumbled when she caught sight of something utterly incongruent with the elven theme.

 

His eyebrows were dark, bushy caterpillars on a face that was otherwise fair and smooth.

 

Were they hereditary? Considering Legolas had similar dark brows and the light hair, Elya mused that they must be. Dark, thick brown eyebrows, and pale silver light hair, so incongruent with each other. Her eyes slipped lower, and she forgot to be embarrassed, wondering if elves even had pubic hair.

 

Coughing with the strange dry feeling in her mouth, Elya didn’t realize she had caught the Elven King’s attention. Her eyes were stuck on his eyebrows, still wondering.

 

“And this is a...human girl?” Thranduil raised one of his...thick, bushy brown eyebrows, “Or perhaps a particularly ugly dwarrowdam?” Elya knew he was insulting her, but she remained fixated, hardly hearing his words. The dwarves behind her milled and muttered darkly, offended on her behalf.

 

Thorin grunted, “The Lady’s part of my company.”

 

Elya would have been pleased, but she swayed instead, still ill from the spider’s fang.

 

She didn’t realize Thranduil had asked her something until his eyes were drilling into her. “Uhm,” she licked her lips, “I apologize, could you repeat that?”

 

A dwarf gave a covered snicker, and though nothing changed in the King’s face, she knew he was annoyed. He was remarkably tall, one long line of limb and joint. His beautiful hair fell soft and light, and probably weighed nothing. Unlike her own hair, which had been mussed and ruined by the Spider’s webs and the days trekking through the forest without any dwarf being able to spend the time fixing it.

 

Her eyes wandered up to Thranduil’s brows again, and the weird rushing of her blood distracted her enough that she missed his question...again.

 

Flushing with what blood she had left, Elya squeaked, “I’m sorry?”

 

The dwarves didn’t even try to hide their snickering this time. Elya felt like the rudest person on the planet. And indeed, rude to the one king who held their fates in his hands. Thranduil looked upwards in exasperation, patience run out. He ordered his men to take the dwarves to the dungeons, leaving Thorin to speak with.

 

Elya’s arm was gently taken by Tauriel, the red haired elf from earlier. She helped the weak girl away from the room, conceivably towards the closest healer. The dwarves made a bit of a ruckus, but calmed when they were told she would join them later, after the spider venom was seeped from her.

 

“You should not have aggravated the King as you did.” Tauriel started an awkward conversation.

 

Elya wanted to laugh. “It was not my intent, trust me. The only thing I could hear was the blood in my ears, and I was...distracted by a thought.”

 

“What thought could distract you so thoroughly?” At least it seemed like the elf was believing her.

 

“Ah.” Elya coughed a little, tongue feeling thick and cheeks warm with embarrassment. “Promise me you won’t tell him?”

 

It was an odd request, but Elya took the elf’s graceful nod as agreement. Of course, if it were anything dire, Elya was sure Tauriel would actually tell the king, but it was mostly just...embarrassing.

 

“I was wondering why his eyebrows are a different color than his hair.” Tauriel was silent. Though her face didn’t change, Elya could feel her incredulousness.

 

“Yes,” Elya sighed, accepting her help in sitting down on a medical bed, “His dark brown eyebrows, bushy, and his long silky golden silver hair.” Elya cleared her throat, avoiding looking Tauriel in the eye. “I was distracted about...if that meant he...dyed his hair or just had different hair on his head from his body and well…”

 

Elya glanced up, and was treated to the sight of an elf, creature of grace and beauty as they were, trying vainly not to laugh. Tauriel was only holding on by a thread.

 

“Is that so?” her voice was controlled, Elya had to give her that.

 

“Have you never noticed? It was all I could think about.”

 

“I can honestly say it never crossed my mind.” Her mouth trembled, wanting to smile. Elya let out a giggle, then sobered because it sounded a bit too hysterical.

 

Elya put a hand to her injury, hissing at the light touch. She felt woozy, and seconds from passing out.

 

“Sleep, young one.” Tauriel said, removing herself from her side. A brown haired healer elf wearing the lightest of blues handed her a goblet. At this point she would have eaten or drank anything, so Elya downed it with little thought.

 

“Look after my dwarves please.” Elya asked Tauriel, drowsily, “Especially Kili. He’ll be frustrated.”

 

She wasn’t awake long enough to hear Tauriel’s answer, but Elya thought the she elf was one of the nicer elves she’s met. Seemed tougher than Arwen, but of course, Elya had never seen Arwen in battle. If the elf was something like two thousand years old, of course she would know how to fight, what else did you do with so much time?

 

And then sleep took her.

 


	7. Thranduil's Halls

Elya woke groggily, comfortable and warm. She put her hand out seeking Kili behind her, as such warmth usually was because of the dwarf’s incredible body heat, but all she met was more mattress.

 

Her eyes opened and found a bright, airy room with long windows on one side, filled with panes of glass so fine they didn’t even seem present. A soft effervescent glow came from sconces hung along the wall, not quite flame but something close to it that didn’t stink of pitch or naptha.

 

Elya went to sit up, but a sharp pain in her stomach sent itself singing along her spine, making her dizzy and slump back down, breathing deeply through her nose.

 

“She is awake.” A lilting voice spoke from beside her, and when she opened her eyes she found a brown haired elf wearing the nondescript white-grey robes of a healer. He, and these elves seemed slightly easier to tell apart gender-wise, smiled at her gently and already had a hand on her forehead checking her temperature.

 

“You will feel woozy for some time, but once you can handle a solid meal it will go away.” He piled a pillow behind her, easily and gently lifting her away from the mattress, “You were lucky the prince brought you in at the right time.”

 

“Technically the prince took us prisoner. It was Tauriel who brought me here.” Elya rasped, coughing at the dryness of her throat and mouth. He offered a glass of water and she slipped it eagerly, feeling a little ridiculous holding the large cup with both her small hands.

 

“Then I will notify them both,” the elf swept away without another word, and Elya blinked at the sudden exit. She was left alone in the healing ward, and all the beds were empty save hers. For a split second, Elya thought about getting up and going to find the dwarves, but a sudden twinge in her stomach and she deflated, realizing that the moment she reopened her wound she would be much more of a burden than she already was.

 

Her thoughts grew more and more downcast, thinking of how utterly useless she had been in the spider attack and how Kili had to risk his own life to rescue her. He’d done it before, with the goblins, and the wargs, but with the spiders he had physically ripped the legs off a living one with his _bare hands_ , just to get to her side. That thought simultaneously warmed her heart and put a huge weight in the pit of her stomach.

 

What happens when she inevitably came at risk from a foe that Kili couldn’t take on? Would he still fight for her? She’d get him killed that way quicker than if she hadn’t been on this quest. Elya grit her teeth and bit back tears of frustration. Too weak to help, too weak to fight, what use was she to this quest? Durin’s Gift indeed.

 

Elya was so engrossed in her thoughts, head down and fists clenched, that she didn’t notice it when Tauriel arrived. Nor, did she notice when Tauriel tried to catch her eye, to warn her, before falling silent and bowing her head to the king.

 

Thranduil himself approached, and when she didn’t raise her head he cleared his throat.

 

She startled, jerking and then wincing in pain and gaped wide-eyed at the king and his captain of the guard.

 

“Girl.” Thranduil said, voice aloof and seemingly uninterested, though the way his eyes tracked her said otherwise. “My healers say you have writing on your arm that is not of this realm.”

 

He didn’t ask to see it, nor for her permission, but she understood the order anyways. Elya’s eyes flickered to Tauriel, who remained stiff faced in the presence of the king, and reluctantly relinquished her arm to him.

 

The script looked even more dwarvish amidst the scenery and light of the elven halls. Elya withheld a slight snicker at the way the elven king raised his eyebrow.

 

She also noticed Tauriel carefully not looking at her, and the hole in her stomach ached with her silent snorts.

 

“Mark of the Valar,” Thranduil drawled, leaning over her the same sort of way he had leant over Thorin, bending like a willow tree. She almost expected him to touch it, much like Elrond had, but Thranduil merely bent so close that she worried he would press his nose to it. “On a girl like _you_.”

 

Now that was too close to what she had been thinking, and she couldn’t help her flinch, eyes dimming.

 

“What does it say?”

 

Thranduil stood and waited. Elya didn’t look at him again.

 

“Beorn...the skin-changer that lives on your western border,” Elya said to her bedspread. “He says it reads ‘Durin’s Gift.’” Elya could see no reason to anger the king, as she had spent however long lying comatose in his home.

 

“A gift. Perhaps you bear the future for those greedy dwarves that are making such a racket in my dungeon.” Thranduil crossed to the door, practically dismissing her though she was bedridden. “Do not trust them, girl, dwarves never have anyone’s interests in mind save their own.” And he swept away, several guards marching after him from the hall.

 

Tauriel remained, and Elya relaxed, blinking in confusion.

 

“That was almost advice he just gave.”

 

“He wished to see the Valar’s mark. The healers reported it the first night you were bathed.”

 

Elya blanched. “I was bathed?! _First night_? How long have I been here?”

 

Tauriel sat on a nearby chair, graceful and straight backed. “You have slept a week’s time.”

 

“A week.” Elya gasped, “What about the others, are they okay?”

 

She nodded. “They have consistently asked after you, particularly the knitted one, the blonde one, and the brown haired one, Kili.”

 

Elya smiled the thought of them, Ori, Fili, and Kili, and sat a little straighter, ignoring her pain.

 

“Could I possibly see them?” She asked, “Thranduil didn’t say I couldn’t.”

 

“Once you are capable of walking, I will escort you to them should my King acquiesce.”

 

“Thank you, Tauriel. You have been kind through this whole process.” She eyed the elf, cuddling back into the soft pillows.

 

Elya couldn’t help her naughty smile. “You can’t stop thinking about it can you?”

 

“About what?” Nothing in Tauriel’s face or voice changed, but Elya did notice that she froze entirely still.

 

The grin grew. “His eyebrows.”

 

The elf twitched a bit towards the door, checking, before glancing back at Elya. She offered a tiny little embarrassed smile, and Elya laughed, clapping her hands weakly.

 

“Sorry,” Elya giggled, “That’s entirely my fault, isn’t it?”  

 

Tauriel hummed, shaking her head so her long red hair shined in the light. “I suppose I did know, but I never took it as anything other than a facial feature. It is hard to laugh at your king.”

 

Elya nodded, lethargy growing in her limbs. “He is quite frightening at times, isn’t he?”

 

“Indeed.” Tauriel stood and awkwardly paused. “I will leave you to sleep. Perhaps tomorrow you may stand?” She patted her hand quickly, turning and practically marching away. Elya thought the elf maid maybe hadn’t very many friends, as her actions belied her discomfort and awkward sincerity. Elya slept, but this time her dreams were light and airy instead of murky and dizzying.

 

Thranduil, despite being rather incensed with the dwarves’ presence in his home, and rather unimpressed with her, was a generous host. If one could say imprisonment was generous. While the dwarrows were in prison they were fed three times a day, and Elya was permitted to see them.

 

Tauriel assisted her with stairs mostly, and there were a lot of them, but Elya could walk the distance there even though it tired her. Tauriel, answering her unspoken plea, brought her to Kili first. She was gratified to see the other dwarves somewhat nearby, Fili unfortunately across the gap of the stairs, but at least the brothers weren’t separated beyond sight. Kili sat and played with his rune stone, bored out of his mind.

 

“Elya!” Kili yelled, jumping up and running to his bars. She grinned and met him there, gripping the bars tightly. His hands came down around hers, and she felt their familiar warmth.

 

“Hello.” She said, overjoyed to see him, and all the others.

 

“Are you alright? Are you being treated well? Did they heal your wounds? It’s been so long, they must be feeding you, right, you’re so thin, if they aren’t I’m going right up there and--” Kili rolled off at her, voice darkening towards the end. Elya interrupted until he could say anything rude.

 

“Kili, Kili, I’m fine. I was asleep for a week because of the poison, but the wound itself is healing nicely. I’m fed as often as you are and Tauriel here has been wonderful to me. She visits and makes sure I don’t get lonely, and even helped me get down here.” Elya looked to Tauriel, who had hung back slightly as they greeted each other. The elf nodded, and to Elya’s great surprise, Kili nodded back gratefully.

 

“Are you alright lass?” Bofur cried from one of the cells, able to hear her voice but not see her.

 

“It’s who?” she heard Oin say.

 

“The lass!” Gloin told him.

 

“Are they treating you well, sweet girl?” Fili yelled, and everything degenerated into the dwarves yelling at one another to shut up so they could ask their question. None seemed to want to wait for her to answer. About the time Dwalin was cooking up a plan to burst into Thranduil’s evening meal to “give him a piece of dwarvish iron,” Elya rolled her eyes at Kili and sighed, legs shaking enough she felt the need to sit down.

 

“ _Are_ you alright?” Kili asked her quietly, having sat with her to lean as close as he could against the bars.

 

“I am, Kili.” She smiled and accepted his hand when it threaded through the bars seeking hers. He reached up and pushed a thread of her hair behind her ear, taken down out of her braids by the healers. Her heart skipped, and the tight feeling in her stomach trembled and then released.

 

She sighed into his hand and his eyes grew impossibly soft. Neither of them saw how Tauriel watched them both.

 

“Tauriel says you’ve been causing a fuss. Prince Legolas apparently doesn’t like you very much.” Elya wanted to talk, having been separated for nearly two weeks.

 

Kili laughed. “He’s very easy to taunt, that one.”

 

Tauriel stifled a snort, and Elya waved her closer. The elf hesitated, but eventually came and leaned on the wall next to Kili’s cell, ostensibly watching over her charge and the prisoners but really finding the two’s chemistry engrossing. She’d never seen such gentle love, and wanted to know how...how to understand it. She always thought dwarves were hard and loveless.

 

“He has many worries, the prince, not the least of which is finding me nearby _dwarves_ so often.” Tauriel said.

 

“We traded stories, after I learned that she was actually watching out for you.” Kili said, thumb moving in slow circles along Elya’s wrist. “She told me about the starlight festival coming up and I told her about the red moon. I don’t think the prince likes anyone talking to her that isn’t himself.”

 

“I always liked that story.” Elya commented, before raising a teasing eyebrow at Tauriel. “So, you and the prince?”

 

Tauriel even blushed. Granted, it was light and faded nearly instantly. “It is unlikely to happen, as I am a lower elf than he. His father would never approve.” She hesitated, “I have never let myself dream.”

 

Elya frowned. “That’s not okay, there shouldn’t be anything wrong with loving someone. Especially since elves live so long, I’d think it would be easier.”

 

“It is because we live so long that it is so difficult. Bonding is for life, and should one be incompatible or irresponsible, the consequences can be dire.” Tauriel’s eyes were sad.

 

“Sounds like dwarf marriage.” Kili spoke up. “We have Ones, who we find during our lifetimes and who we love forever, past death.” His fingers clenched on Elya’s.

 

“How do you know if you meet your One?” Tauriel asked.

 

Kili ducked his head bashfully, ears turning pink. Elya too felt her cheeks warm, but she carefully didn’t look at either of them. She knew Tauriel was smirking though, or the elven equivalent of smirking.

 

“It’s…” Kili trailed off, “I’ve heard it’s different for each dwarf. Gloin said it felt like getting hit with a gong, ringing in his ears. My amad said it was like someone had grabbed hold of her spine.” The pinkness in his cheeks rose into a red, “I, I think it can also be gentle, and slow, like the feeling you get when waking up from a good sleep.”

 

There was a beat of silence, within which Elya couldn’t help looking at Kili, who was glancing at her from the corner of his eye. She realized she was smiling when his eyes flickered down to her mouth.

 

“That sounds beautiful.” Tauriel said, breaking their moment. Elya looked up at her and blushed.

 

Elya hummed in agreement, resting her head against the bars.

 

“Are you tired?”

 

“Getting there. I don’t really want to climb all those stairs again, though.” she smiled weakly at Kili.

 

“Tauriel, could you?” Kili began, but the elf had already started moving.

 

“Of course.” Tauriel stooped and drew Elya away from the cell, and stood with her in her arms. Elya squawked and tried to flail, but Tauriel held her as though she weighed nothing.

 

“Thanks.” Kili grinned, standing as well.

 

Tauriel nodded her head, amused by Elya’s flustered face.

 

“Oh, you two.” Elya pouted, but quickly put a hand on Tauriel’s arm when she started to leave. “Will we come back? Tomorrow?”

 

She nodded, and Elya waved goodbye to Kili and Fili, happy that everyone seemed to be in good health.

 

“I’ll come talk to you tomorrow, Ori!” Elya threw to him as Tauriel climbed the stairs.

 

“Sleep well!” he cried back.

 

The last thing Elya hears is Dwalin grumbling a warning, “If she drops the lass…” And she shook her head.

 

It took four days of elven healing for her stomach to no longer pain her, though she was advised not to stress her healing skin. In that time, Elya managed to walk and visit each dwarf, including Thorin, who asked her to relay a message to Kili and Fili, who were beginning to itch at their confinement. This was the longest time they had ever gone without touching one another, and their increased pacing, boredom, and agitation belied their disquiet.

 

“Don’t worry,” Elya says, “Thorin says we’re waiting on our good fortune.”

 

“Good fortune?” Fili asked, “What does that mean?”

 

“I have no idea. Actually, it may have something to do with what we all discussed in the Shire.”

 

Considering Tauriel was so near, Elya didn’t want to let her know that Bilbo was still MIA. It saddened her to lie, or omit the truth, to the elf but Tauriel was nothing if not loyal. Currently, the elf was standing with Kili, trying to learn a numbers game that included fingers, hitting, and swearing. Elya had yet to hear Tauriel swear.

 

“Ahh.” Fili was silent, before a teasing smirk curled around his lips. “So, talking about Ones, were you?”

 

Elya couldn’t help her blush, though she thought there was no reason for her to be blushing. “Curiosity.”

 

“Mhm.” Fili didn’t seem convinced.

 

Taking her back to her room, Tauriel asked her “How long have you been with these dwarves?”

 

Elya dawdled, not wanting to be shut in again. “Nearly six months now, but it’s hard to tell how long we were lost in Mirkwood.”

 

“So short a time?”

 

“It may seem like it, but it also felt like a hundred years.” Elya laughed. “I suppose that means little to you, however.”

 

“It is difficult to relate.” Her lips quirked. “I admit my interest in how close you are to those dwarves, perhaps the most reticent and antagonistic of the races.”

 

“Save orcs.” Elya snorted. “But, yes, it took a while but I think they all...accept me more now.”

 

“You will remain with them, once their journey is complete?”

 

Side eyeing her, because that tone was a smidgen too innocent. “I suppose so.” She quieted. “I’d like to.”

 

“I think you will be at home.” Tauriel smiled mysteriously when Elya glanced at her. She refrained from rolling her eyes, but the elf probably got the message from her sigh.

 

“I hope so. And you, I can’t imagine living inside a forest with those spiders everywhere.” Elya shuddered.

 

“The forest has grown more menacing in recent years.” There was a quiet sort of bitterness in Tauriel’s voice.

 

“It’s nice here, though, in Thranduil’s Golden Halls. Do you wish you were elsewhere?”

 

“I wish the woods I grew up loving were free of the evil that has beset them. Travelers used to be replenished within it, and not become lost or sick because of its taint.” Tauriel shook her head. “I can imagine nowhere else to live, yet it grows worse each year.”

 

Her eyes were sad. Elya reached over and took her hand, squeezing it once. The elf accepted the comfort for what it was, and they moved their easy conversation to less painful matters.

 

It was one boring day after she had trekked back to her room -- after transferring out of their healing ward into a rather nice guest room, Elya thought she felt a breeze as she opened her door. She waved off Tauriel to her guard duty elsewhere and entered her room, knowing that even though she had a larger more comfortable bed, she was just as imprisoned as the dwarves. Thranduil’s continued to ignore her, and really she was thankful.

 

Sighing, Elya went about getting out of the gown the elves had loaned her, the pull on her stomach wound barely there as she undid the laces on the back.

 

A rather high pitched squeak stopped her, and she froze. Was she not alone?

 

Suddenly, Bilbo appeared before her, cheeks a little red, slipping something off his finger and into his pocket. Half frozen with her laces undone, Elya gaped at him, taking in his gaunt face, the way his clothes hung on him, and the dark circles under his eyes.

 

“Bilbo!” She cried, rushing him.

 

“Miss Elya.” Bilbo hugged her back, a little desperately.

 

“Oh, Bilbo, are you alright? Have you been here this whole time?” She took his face in her hands. “You’re exhausted. Come, eat my dinner.”

 

“Oh Miss, I couldn’t!” Bilbo tried to refuse, but as her meal had already been delivered, and he looked at the steaming soup with something more ravenous than hunger, she refused him.

 

“What have I told you, it’s Elya, and you need it far more than I do!” She sat him down and tried not to hover or cling. He ate her soup unusually fast, and wiped the bowl with the provided bread, gobbling that down with a bit of an ashamed glance.

 

“You’ve been hiding all this time?” She asked, quietly.

 

Bilbo nodded. “I can’t sleep either, every inch of this place is cleaned far too often, and they have such strong ears.” He shook his head. “Have you been to see the others?”

 

“Yes, Tauriel escorts me down every day.” She remembered, the last she’d seen Bilbo was before the spiders. “Did the spiders hurt you at all? I have some left over ointment.”

 

Bilbo accepted what she put into his hands but shook his head, “No, I’m not hurt.”

 

“Good. Then get some sleep, Bilbo, Thorin is waiting on you to rush in and break us all out!” She tried to joke, but Bilbo’s gaze dropped.

 

Chagrined, cast about for words to reassure him, but none were forthcoming. Elya took his elbow and leaned her head on his. “He calls you our good fortune. Don’t force it, I’m looking out for an escape too. Thranduil seems to think we’re not going anywhere.”

 

Bilbo sighed, leaning on her. “If only there would be some distraction, the elves are everywhere all the time!”

 

“What about the festival of starlight, that’s tomorrow.” Elya mused. “It’s supposed to be a huge deal. I heard from Tauriel that the king ordered twenty more barrels of wine than usual from the nearby lakemen.”

 

Bilbo groaned, slumping, before he twitched and leapt to his large hairy feet. “Barrels!” He beamed. “Barrels!”

 

Elya blinked. “Barrels?”

 

“Yes, we’ll escape in the barrels!” Bilbo said, looking almost like he could jig on the spot, before a wave of tiredness overcame him and he nearly stumbled.

 

“Well, that’ll be tomorrow.” Elya said firmly, concerned by the suddenly grayness to Bilbo’s face, to his hair, he looked like he was barely real. “It’s time for sleep now. Come, I’ll make up a part of the bed so you can’t even be seen.”

 

The next morning, Bilbo disappeared with nary a pop, and Elya held the door open a smidgen longer than she normally would. If Tauriel noticed her absentmindedness, the elf didn’t say anything. She ate, visited Kili once more, and the three of them played the same finger tapping game. Tauriel always won.

 

Kili groaned again, glowering at the elf. “It’s not fair.” He muttered.

 

“Don’t be so childish. It’s what you deserve, finally losing for once.” Elya laughed. Tauriel grinned with her and shrugged her shoulders, unapologetic for the dexterity and quickness that came with being Eldar.

 

Elya considered them all, elf, dwarf, and human standing as they were, relaxed against the walls with only Kili’s bars in between them.

 

“I think we’re the strangest group of friends there has ever been on Arda.” Elya smiled, taking Kili’s and Tauriel's hands.

 

She blinked. “We are friends?”

 

Kili snorted, “If she says so, it must be true.” After a moment’s pause, Kili sighed and held out his other hand for Tauriel. “Just don’t tell my uncle.” He groused. With the same moment's pause, Tauriel took it in hers, and the three of them stood clasped in a circle.

 

Elya nudged him with their clasped hands, smiling, “I’m glad you realize that I’m always right.”

 

“Now, I’m not sure I said _that_!”

 

“Didn’t he say that, Tauriel?”

 

“I think he said that.”

 

“See?”

 

“Women!”

 

They laughed, and Elya knew she would miss the elf. And then the captain was called away to the festival, and Elya waited about her room, for once the hallways outside rather empty. It was a bit stressful, and Elya waited on bated breath for any noise or sound that meant they had been found out.

 

Soon though, Bilbo opened the door to her room and stuck his head in, waving at her to be quick. They flew down the steps to where the dwarves were locked up, and made quick work of the locks. Kili gathered her up in his arms in an instant, clutching her tightly. Elya breathed out a shaky breath against his neck, reveling in the way he clenched her in his arms. She also hugged Fili and Ori, and surprisingly, Thorin clapped an approving hand to her shoulder, his other gripping Bilbo.

 

“Well done, Master Burglar.” Thorin said to him, almost smiling.

 

“Don’t say that yet, we still have a ways to go.” Bilbo said, waving them down the stairs. “This way, come on.”

 

The dwarves were...less than impressed to be told by a small creature that they were being stuffed into barrels and sent to float down the river. But, with one order from Thorin and they climbed in. Kili didn’t even give her the chance to find her own barrel, he helped her into one and then climbed in right after her. Elya grunted when his knee hit her in the chest and then rolled her eyes at his grinning apology.

 

He put his arms around her and then lay lightly on his side, pulling her between the v of his legs. Their faces were close together, and she could feel his exhale against her neck. Elya swallowed, body feeling charged and jittery, in the midst of their escape.

 

Bilbo said something, and then lifted the lever, sending the barrels rolling. Elya squawked, knocked about the barrel and suddenly doused with shockingly cold water.

 

She sputtered, hearing Thorin say. “Hold! Where’s the burglar?” And not a moment after he finished, Bilbo came falling with a loud splash before him.

 

“Right, off we go!” Dwalin said, and they paddled their way. Kili took one side and Elya took another, and everything seemed hopeful, up until they ran into a metal gate, with the elves bearing down on them from behind.

 

Their situation was made worse when suddenly orc cries and dark metal arrows were flying, Bolg had caught up to them too, resulting in a handful of dwarves and hobbit and girl stuck right in the middle of a clash between elves and Gundabad orcs, each striving to get to the dwarves first.

 

Elya couldn’t help her involuntary shrieks, especially when the dwarves, fierce warriors all, were managing to kill the ones closest to them even with elvish arrows striking above their heads. A large orc fell sideways into the water, unsetting her and Kili’s barrel enough that they moved closer to the stone walkway. Elya gave a muted cry of shock when Kili suddenly shoved her behind him, and launched himself out of the barrel.

 

“Kili!” She cried amid Fili’s and Thorin’s own screams, reaching for him but he didn’t look back. He was going for the lever, regardless of his brother’s yells for him. Thorin couldn't see anything, stuck right up to the gate as he was. Elya couldn’t decide what to watch, Kili, the fighting, Thorin, or the orcs.

 

But then Kili seemed to freeze, the sound of the arrow piercing his leg echoing in her soul. He stilled, and then collapsed, agony twisting his face and Elya knew this was not a regular arrow, it would not have taken him down so quickly if it had been.

 

“Kili! No!” Fili screamed, and Ely couldn’t find her voice though her body was sending the same cry though her. An orc approached Kili’s prone body, his scimitar held aloft and Elya jolted, both from her own desperation to reach him and Fili attempting and failing to get out of his own barrel.

 

“Kili--” she breathed, agonized at her helplessness, but then a new arrow came, elvish, and the orc fell dead. Tauriel. Thank Mahal.

 

Noticing Kili now struggling to stand, Elya screamed, “Up! Get _up_ Kili!” And he did, clutching the lever and pulling with all his might. He succeeded, and their barrels started to move, Thorin going first with his worried eyes fixed on Elya, who was fixed on Kili.

 

The dwarf stumbled, and Elya knew she was in the way. She leaped out of the barrel, just managing to keep a hand on it. The water was cold, but it wasn’t important.

 

Kili jumped into his barrel, Elya just barely clinging to the outside of it. The arrow made a terrible snapping sound as it broke off on the barrel’s lip, and Kili’s cry of agony was painful to hear. She didn’t know how Fili managed it, but he steadied his brother with one hand and bodily tugged her up and out of the water with the other, dumping her into the same barrel with Kili with a grunt. And then they were falling, and Elya’s head knocked around against wood and Kili’s own skull.

 

They were tumbling, water falling over the barrels edge and Elya tried to hold Kili steady, keep his head aloft and clutched tight to her breast and yet also not crush his injured leg. She was waterlogged, half drowned, and terrified, so she didn’t noticed Kili’s intent until he had already seized her by the hips. It was a long time coming.

 

He tugged her tight, so tight it hurt where he gripped her hip and hair, but then his lips were on hers, arm forcing her head down to meet him. Kili made a growling sort of desperate noise, surging toward her even amidst the crush and fall of the barrel.

 

His lips took over hers, and she could only grab at his head and shoulders, pinned to him by his strength. She panted through her nose, unwilling to end it just for the necessity of breathing. Kili broke off with a gasp, the both of them knocked sideways by a hard impact but neither of them were paying attention anymore, this was much more important.

 

“Kili!” Elya cried, straining and shaking, only wanting to kiss him again.

 

“Elya, Elya--” He spoke into her mouth, pressed their lips together again and devouring her. She bit back at him before surrendering completely, pulling from him every groan and noise she could.  

 

They couldn’t kiss for long as the situation was rather crucial, but when they broke apart, Elya found Kili’s eyes in the mess of water and hair that they had become. He’d never looked so beautiful. She was sure she’d have bruises on her skin in the shape of his hands alongside the bruises of the barrel ride. Her heart pounded from more than just fear and adrenaline, and the thought of looking at those purple finger marks on her thin white skin thrilled her.

 

Kili grit his teeth and levered himself up so his weight was more evenly distributed, hooking an arm over the edge of the barrel to try and guide them. He kept his other arm tight around Elya, his hand spread wide and possessive over her ribs, pressed tight to him between his legs. Now and again an orc would get just close enough to be a worry, and he’d strike out at him with whatever weapon he had on hand. Eventually, the river took them further away, and Elya could look back just in time to see Tauriel and Legolas watching them go, the orcs defeated for the most part, retreating into the forest.

 

Elya shivered, caught by surprise by how cold she was now. Kili clutched her closer, putting her head into his shoulder, and she hugged him tightly back, shuddering at the feel of his blood running down between them.

 

Kili was struggling to breathe steadily against her hair, his fingers digging roughly into her. She didn’t care, as he was still breathing, still moving, and she could feel his heartbeat.

 

“Come on, to the bank!” Thorin hollered some time later as they bobbed their way. Bilbo was clinging to the outside of his barrel, looking rather drowned and wide eyed.

 

Elya got out of the barrel first, and tried to help Kili out of it, joined by Fili, quickly dragging him up and away. His leg was almost useless, but Kili still batted away his brother, saying he could do it himself.

 

Elya took hold of his ear, making him wince and freeze. Kili glanced at her, at first frowning and dark, glaring, but whatever look was on her face made him pause.

 

“ _Sit_.” Elya’s teeth clacked, shivering. Kili sat, grunting in pain when he shifted his leg.

 

Fili was there in an instant, tearing at Kili’s pant leg. The wound exposed, Elya thought it looked much too dark and black to be natural, and Fili’s hesitance and worried look was frightening.

 

“Oin!” Fili called urgently, smacking Kili’s hands away when he tried to cover it. Shivering, Elya took her elven given skirts in hand and wrung them out, thinking that every time she’s given clothing she manages to ruin them, somehow.

 

Oin joined them and ushered both her and Fili away, and Elya stood, shaky on her legs.

 

“Lake town.” Dwalin said, peering out over the lake. “But we’ve no way to get to it!”

 

“Get dry, then we’ll find a way around to the bridge.” Thorin shook out his mane, ice blue eyes glancing from the lake to Kili and to the rest of his bedraggled company. Bilbo was shivering in a small ball nearby him, looking rather ill.

 

Ori was pouring out his boot into the river, when he seemed to notice something and cried out.

 

An arrow slammed into the shaft of Dwalin’s new axe, halting him where he stood. Kili stooped and took up a rock, thinking to throw it, but an arrow shot that out of his hand too, not even leaving a mark.

 

Elya was impressed, but couldn’t see their attacker due to the shine of the sun. She hoped desperately it was no enemy.

 

“Who are you?” A man’s voice, she realized. A man with a longbow.

 

Balin immediately set about gaining them favor with the man, and he returned to his work, loading the barrels they had recently escaped with onto his barge, which lay just on the other side of their rock cropping. Elya wondered at this coincidence, but in the midst of her shivering she didn’t question it.

 

“How many bairns?” Balin asked cheerfully, the perfect image of a grandfather.

 

“Three. Boy and two girls.” At least he was answering, that seemed hopeful.

 

“And their mother? I’m sure she’s a right beauty.”

 

“Aye.” The man stilled. “She was.” And continued to load his barrels.

 

“Ah. I’m sorry...” Balin deflated, pain crossing his face and his eyes, and Elya thought she recognized empathy. Her heart hurt, for him and for the man, who refused to look up. She shivered still, arms wrapped around herself. Fili pulled her between Kili and himself, and the brothers did their best, sodden as they all were, to warm her.

 

“Enough of this.” Dwalin muttered, impatient.

 

And eventually, they all bought their passage into Laketown, and he allowed them aboard his barge.

 

As she passed him, Bard made a noise, but she couldn’t stop to ask him, or to thank him. Kili was right behind her, limping though he tried to hide it.

 

Then they were being pushed off the bank, and they floated out into the forming mist, heading towards the center of the lake.

 


	8. Laketown

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is where my chapters will become a little weaker, haha that's how it goes when you try to write a long fic when you're definitely a short smut author. Oh, and Ed Sheeran's beautiful song makes an appearance!

“Here,” Bard removed his great overcoat. “For the girl.” He offered it to Fili.

 

“Oh, aren’t you cold?” Elya tried to say, though her body shivering probably made it sound twice as long. Fili wrapped her up in it.

 

“I am used to this. I grew up here.” Bard told her, and then resumed driving the boat with that same stoicness Elya thought she recognized in Thorin’s face. The look of a man who would do anything if it meant bringing light or health to his family.

 

She thanked him, curling up in the coat and throwing the corner over Kili. He tried to remove it, glaring at her, but she cuddled in tight so if he moved it, it would move from her too. Perched as she was on a small crate, Kili slumped further and further against her until his head was pillowed by her thigh. She gave into the urge and started working her fingers through his damp hair.

 

He sighed against her, the heat of his breath penetrating her skirts. Elya breathed through her nose so as to hide her sudden flush and thump of her heart. His hair was knotted and so thick that it was still wet from the river and the dampness of the mist.

 

Her eyes trailed to where his leg was wrapped, and then followed upwards to where Thorin stood tall and strong on the bow. There was some muttering from the dwarves when they were asked to give up their last little bits of coin, but Balin counted it all out with an experienced hand.

 

It came up short.

 

“I have been bled dry by this venture!” Gloin blustered, but the dwarves around him were deaf and dumb, staring up at something rising in the mist.

 

The Lonely Mountain.

 

“Erebor.” Thorin breathed, and Elya was shocked at the emotion laden in his voice.

 

Kili jerked against her, turning to see, and Elya could only smile back at his wide eyed look of wonder.  

 

“Take it.” Gloin thrust his last money bag to Balin, gaping at the mountain peak, so many hundreds of feet above them.

 

Elya softened like butter to see all the dwarves so stunned and emotional at the sight of their home. Even Bofur, who was born and bred in the Blue Mountains, was a little teary eyed at the sight of it.

 

“Quickly, give me the money.” Bard urged, thumping down to them. His eyes darted around the, the gate just barely able to be seen. It looked rather decrepit and empty, with no one guarding it.

 

“Into the barrels.” Bard told them, “And make no noise. The Master of this town does not like strangers, nor foreigners.”

 

“Aren’t they the same thing?” She heard Ori whisper to her left, as the dwarves grudgingly, with many a glare cast to the man, climbed into the barrels. There were enough that Elya had her own barrel this time, and she found it to be rather roomy and still quite cold.

 

She stood in it and held out the coat to Bard, who took it from her with a nod. Immediately, she began shivering again, and hunkered down as tightly as she could, drawing her tattered and destroyed skirts around her. Honestly, the impracticality of skirts on a journey such as this one, she bemoaned men’s expectations. The first time she had mentioned wishing for trousers, Dori had given her such a look of abject horror she had immediately sworn never to say it again.

 

Even though she’s ruined every single article of clothing anyone had ever given her. Sighing, she wrapped her arms around her legs and ignored how the dwarves were grumbling to each other.

 

She wished she had a dress of her own. A chest of drawers full of clothing, of all kinds. A closet maybe, to hang her better fabrics. And then she felt guilty for thinking of such a material thing whilst so many people, the dwarves especially, made do with what they were given.

 

She was shocked, rather rudely, out of her thoughts when a cold, clammy, fish slapped over her head and landed in her lap. And then _more_. She made a whining sort of noise, and heard Fili grunting beside her. The _smell_ , oh the smell.

 

“Quiet now!” Bard said, as they approached the gate to the town proper.

 

Elya couldn't really hear anything, as she was mostly just overcome with disgust and the shivers, hating the cold clammy touch of fish all over her body.

 

She did notice when someone started tilting her barrel, however, the fish over her head shifting.

 

“Alfrid, have a heart. People are starving!” That was Bard.

 

“You are a barrel bargeman, not a fisherman. Over the side!” said an oily voice, smarmy and self-inflated.

 

“And what will the people think of this, seeing good fish thrown into the lake by a Master who doesn’t care if they starve. Will it be your problem then? When the riots start?” Bard told him darkly, and Elya’s barrel stopped tilting for a second.

 

“Stop, hold.” The oily voice grit out, and Elya was slammed back into place, with a thinner layer of fish over her head. She could see a man wearing a helmet backing away, boots stomping on the barge deck.

 

“Many thanks, Alfred.” they were moving again, until finally Bard knocked on someone's barrel, and they could be free. Elya could barely stand her limbs were so frozen, but Fili and Kili lugged her up and out, fish falling everywhere. Elya couldn’t even breath anymore, the stink of fish had overcome her senses.

 

She didn’t so much glare at Bard, as give him a look of reproach, nose pinched together. He could only shrug, ushering them up and out of his barge, handing over a coin to the man.

 

“You didn’t see anything, and you can have the fish for free.” Bard said to him in a low voice, waving the dwarves in a long line down the backside of a building.

 

That was nice of him, she thought. He had paid for those fish out of his good old smugglers money.

 

The dwarves stomped in a grumbling line after Bard’s tall figure, as he led them through the back ways around houses and over half collapsed bridges. Elya wouldn't want to live in a town like this one, everything seemed so decrepit that it may fall into the water at any time. But, she thought, as they hid behind a corner while Bard scouted their way, these people had no other option. The size of the gate seemed indicative of it, at any rate.

 

“You’re not going to like it.” She heard Bard say, and Elya suddenly knew she _really_ wouldn't like what happened next.

 

The toilet, of course it was the toilet. Elya smothered her own scream when they were forced to slip into the freezing cold water, and she clung like a wet cat to the wood of Bard’s house.

 

Dwalin went first, and Elya found herself following without feeling in her body. She was shivering violently when Thorin helped her climb out of the privy hole, and she stumbled into Bard’s house.

 

“Oh, you’re nearly blue!” A young woman said to her, wrapping her up in a blanket and urging her over to a seat.

 

“T-thank you!” Elya tried to say, but the shudders of her body were interrupting her words. One by one the dwarves stomped in, all of them stinking of fish and other not niceties.  

 

Bilbo looked as miserable as her, and they huddled together on the window seat, freezing together.

 

Bard fluttered a bit, going from child to child, and trying to look like a dozen dwarves were normally camped in his living room.

 

“Will they bring us luck?” The youngest one said brightly, and Elya could only grin at Dwalin’s look of disgust.

 

Elya sighed when she finally started to feel her limbs, fingers, and toes. She yawned, absolutely exhausted and beaten up by the events of the last day. Tumbling down a river in a barrel shared with another person was not very comfortable, and indeed, she had bruises that twinged every time she moved. It had not done her injury any favors either, regardless of elven healing abilities.

 

“Lie down before you fall down, Elya,” someone told her, but she was already out.

 

Her sleep was troubled, as every time she thought she started to dream, something broke in and made it clear to her that she was lying vulnerable in Bard’s home. She tried to argue with it, that the dwarves would never let anything happen to her, Kili wouldn’t. But it turned her around again, and she felt it swoop terrifyingly close over her head.

 

And then she woke up, startling awake when Bard burst in.

 

“Where are they?!” He demanded on his son, who shook his head, hands open.

 

“I tried to stop them!” Bain said, “But they wanted better weapons.”

 

“What?” Elya mumbled, tongue thick, blinking her eyes to find an empty house. The dwarves had left her.

 

Bard looked like he was about to say something, but then the bells began to ring.

 

“Intruders,” Bard translated, rubbing a hand down his face. He turned to her, “Did you know that it was Thorin Oakenshield come to try and reclaim his homeland? That he will wake that dragon, damn the consequences?” He looked severely contemptuous of this idea, and Elya frowned at the hidden fear in his face.

  
“He hopes the dragon dead.” She told him, put out that the dwarves had simply left her by herself in a stranger's house. “It was difficult enough convincing him to not bring an army, from what I hear.”

 

Bard blew out a sigh, and then clasped his son on the shoulder. “Stay.” He told him. He pointed a finger at her, and said, “Come.” And rushed out, expecting her to follow.

 

Blinking and feeling slightly insulted to be beckoned like a dog, Elya grumbled as she relinquished the blanket that had held her so warmly. She tried to catch up to Bard, but only succeeded in catching glimpses of his back or coat as he marched his way through the town, following the noise of a crowd.

 

Elya was too small to see anything, but she reached Bard’s back at the same time as Dwalin’s voice rang out.

 

“This is no common criminal!” He called, offended, “This is Thorin, son of Thrain, son of Thror!” The murmurs of the crowd grew, probably about the same as Thorin’s ego did. “King Under the Mountain!”

 

Bard fought his way in while Thorin started speaking, promising riches and glory of Erebor to the poor citizens of the town. Elya slipped after Bard, thankful now for her small frame as Bard’s elbows made room for her.

 

“Death!” Bard called, interrupting the Master. Elya blanched upon seeing the leader of laketown, as he looked something like the physical embodiment of illness and lechery.

 

“Death and fire you would bring upon us, if you enter that mountain!” Bard stood tall and strong against the disapproving looks of the dwarves and some of his people. But, Elya also noticed how many looked to Bard rather than the Master himself.

 

Elya stumbled forward against Bofur’s back. He turned and seized her, wrapping his arms around her tightly. She sighed, as he was warm, but noticed how his smile was easy though his eyes were tense. She patted his hand, and Bombur’s arm, and tried to pay attention.

 

“Wasn’t it your ancestor who failed to kill the beast?” So that was Alfrid, and his looks matched his voice. Bard clenched his teeth, nearly audibly, and refused to back down when Thorin looked at him, almost accusingly.

 

Elya was torn. On one hand, she was sympathetic to the dwarves’ and Thorin’s crisis, his want for home, but on the other, she like Bard doubted that Smaug was dead. And there had never been any sort of discussion on how to actually deal with the dragon once they enter the mountain, at least beyond sending Bilbo down to his death.

 

“All will share in the wealth of the mountain!” Thorin proclaimed, and the crowd cheered for him. The dwarves were welcomed like kings, given clothing and armor and weapons as they wished. Then, the Master invited them into his halls for food and drink, many who were present were invited as well, and the night turned frivolous.

 

“We will leave tomorrow morning,” Thorin told them before he was taken to the head table. Apparently there were going to be speeches.

 

Elya managed a seat between Ori and Kili, sad to see Bard leave. Kili had greeted her with a bit of a sheepish smile, and when she asked why they had left her alone and sleeping in a stranger’s house, he had shrugged and said, “You looked so tired.” Sighing, Elya let it go and eyed the food filing in. For some reason, nobody was sitting yet.

 

“You’re doing it again.” Kili whispered to her, squeezed in tight to her side since the hall was made to fit half the amount of people currently in it.

 

“Doing what?” She drew her eyes from where she was watching how the oddly assorted townsmen invited to the feast were barely listening to their Master.

 

“Turning your ears off because your eyes found something more interesting.” He grinned at her, using his arm around her to balance on one foot. His injury had been wrapped, but it still pained him, sweat dampening his hair and face.

 

“I do not!” She shot back, subtly trying to look as if she had been listening the whole time, which she hadn’t been. The Master was still describing the ‘old friendship’ between Erebor and Esgaroth, and even Thorin looked a little dull-eyed.

 

“Do too.” Kili leaned closer, lips just next to her ear. Elya felt hot at his proximity, and knew her face must be red. “You did it when we were before Thranduil too.”

 

“I was poisoned!”

 

“And before Elrond.”

 

“Well, I…” she stuttered and gave up, giving him a scrunched up look and then proceeding to pretend she was ignoring him. She wasn’t, because she was highly aware of every move he made, but what counts is that he thought she was.

 

“Elya.” He whined, gratefully sitting down when the Master seemed to conclude his speech.

 

“Do you hear something, Ori?” Elya asked to dwarf to her left innocently, nearly laughing at the childish huff she heard behind her.

 

“I’m pretty sure what you hear is Kili being desperate for your attention, Elya,” Ori smiled a little sneakily, “Considering you two rarely go thirty minutes without touching or speaking to one another, I bet it’ll be only five until you give in.” Shocked at the usually shy dwarf’s teasing, Elya couldn't handle it and broke into giggles.

 

“What?” Kili asked leaning forward over her shoulder “What’s so funny?” Elya leaned back into him and appreciated his warmth in the coolness of Laketown, shooting a dark, though still amused, look at Ori’s raised eyebrow. The scribe was distracted then by Nori, and Elya looked at Kili, starting to nibble on the food the men of Laketown provided.

 

“Just Ori showing me those poisoned daggers he keeps beneath his knitted gloves.” She said nonchalantly, loud enough that several nearby dwarves heard her.

 

Ori coughed on his drink, suddenly under the pointed and impressed gazes of Kili, Nori and especially Dwalin, who raised both his bushy eyebrows.

 

“Elya!”  Ori hissed, tucking his hands out of sight. She knew he kept a couple poniards in there, sheathed where they couldn’t accidentally nick him.

 

She giggled, waggling her eyebrows at Nori, who broke out into laughter and wrapped his arms around his surprised younger brother, “That’s my boy!” He howled, and Ori could only smiled and blush, pleased. Dori nearby was grinning, the Ri brothers for once all on the same page.

 

“Crafty.” Kili said to her, still partly wrapped around her.

 

“You bet.” And then they ate, and while it was still lavish and decadent, Elya personally preferred the meals she was fed at Thranduil’s, Beorn’s, and Elrond’s. Bilbo himself had set out a more appetizing table, as the more the Master drank, the more slobbish he became. Thorin sat with a stiff look of kingly pain beside him, as the Master leaned over and breathed brandy and grease into his face.

 

“I wouldn’t want to be up there,” Elya told Kili quietly, feeling entirely off her appetite.

 

“Poor Uncle.” Kili said, trying to be serious but a glint of mischief taking away a lot of his sincerity.

 

Oh well, at the least the company was enjoying themselves. Bofur was on his way to being a merry drunk, holding court with several lake town women with their husbands or brothers glowering from a corner. Bombur was catching up on lost food, Bifur enjoying the several kinds of potato salad they served.

 

Oin and Gloin had managed to get a hand on some pipe weed, and alternated between puffing out smoke and drinking an impressive quantity of ale. Dwalin was currently eating as much meat as he could get his hands on, clearly he felt like he didn’t get his daily amount in the Mirkwood dungeons. Balin sat next to him and seemed on the verge of sleep, although he still had his pipe in his mouth.

 

As the night drew on and food was replaced with ale, brandy, and wine, Elya made the mistake of accepting a small glass of something strange smelling from Fili.

 

“Special dwarven mix.” He winked at her, and then nudged his brother. Kili was halfway to drunk already, sitting there with a goofy smile on his face.

 

Elya sipped it and found it tasted somewhere like oranges.

 

“Not too fast, he says special for dwarves, not for pretty human girls.” Kili said to her, one hand holding a cheese bun and the other a tankard of ale.

 

Elya flushed, but could help her smile. “You think I’m pretty?” She remembered when he had said something similar at Beorns, but it was nice to hear it again.

 

Kili blinked at her, his cheeks pink from the drink. “I think you’re beautiful.” He put his bun down and took up her hand. He kissed the back of it, and Elya immediately remembered their kiss in the barrel, and how utterly electrifying it had been.

 

Elya took another gulp of her drink to hide how her expression betrayed her, and nearly spat it out when she caught sight of Bilbo entertaining a handful of dwarves and men. He had been telling a story, but one of the curious men, barely more than a boy, had reached out and fondled the tip of one of the hobbit’s ears, obviously curious on why someone who wasn’t an elf had pointed ears.

 

Bilbo turned bright red and stuttered. He had sensitive ears. And then, like an avenging angel, Thorin swooped in and separated him from his audience amidst several ‘boos,’ practically dragging him away.

 

“Is there something there?” Elya asked Kili, curious.

 

“I have no idea,” His eyebrows had risen at the sight of it, and he drained his tankard because it looked like Thorin was done entertaining humankind. “But Uncle has always been fascinated by Bilbo. Right from the beginning when I think Bilbo said ‘I have some skill with conkers, if you _must_ know.’” Kili limited Bilbo’s voice as best he could.

 

Elya laughed, and Kili grinned triumphantly. “You have a good memory!”

 

He shrugged, standing with only a slight stumble. His leg still bothered him, it wasn’t healing as it should. “I remember that night very clearly.”

 

Elya got to her feet as well, surprised by how the room suddenly spun. Kili grabbed her and chortled, waving an equally tipsy Bofur over.

 

“Stronger than you thought?” Bofur beamed at her, catching an arm and slipping his own around her shoulders. Kili had already laid claim to her waist.

 

Elya giggled, a little foolishly. “Special dwarven mix.”

 

“Fili got ye, then, did he?” Bofur snorted and laughed cheerfully. His hat was a little lopsided and he had what looked like the smear of a woman’s lip stain on his cheek. Elya reached up and straightened it, tweaking his moustache on the way down. He boomed his laugh at her again, and the three of them loped out of the hall after their companions.

 

“He’s a tricky one. Sneaky.” Elya said, enjoying the breath of fresh air she got as they walked out the front door, heading to the house the Master had offered them for their stay. Ahead of them, the other dwarves were singing a drinking song, Bofur joined in joyfully, his voice a roguish brogue to go with the other dwarves deep ones.

 

“I’m telling him you said that.” Kili snickered into her hair, and he squeezed her hip tightly, hissing through his teeth. He couldn’t help his slight limp.

 

“You’re still hurt, Kili.” Elya frowned, clutching at him and letting Bofur stride on ahead, still holding his tankard.

 

“I’ll be fine.” Kili smiled at her, pulling her in closer. He knocked their foreheads together, and she cuddled into his warmth.

 

“Don’t lie. I know it still hurts and it’s not getting better.” She worried for him.

 

Kili sighed, “I just need to sleep.” She sighed. There was nothing she could say that would stop him.

 

“Alright,” Elya walked with him up the steps to the house, a little more broken down than the ones around it. Elya thought that maybe it had been abandoned, and then volunteered for their use. Getting Kili to lie down even while the other dwarves partied and became rowdier in the other room was a bit of a challenge, but Elya got him to sleep when she yawned spectacularly.

 

“You’re tired too.” He said, pulling her down.

 

“I just had a nap!” She tried to argue, but the comfort of a mattress and his arms around her made it hard to resist.

 

“Sleep.” Kili told her, speaking into the back of her neck. He laid a kiss there, soft and shy, and Elya squeezed his hand, bringing it up to her chest to rest her chin on his knuckles.

 

“You sleep.” Elya argued just to be contrary before the night claimed her, never having felt so safe.

 

At some point in the night, both Fili and Thorin sought them out. Fili only shook his head and laid a throw over their bodies, smiling indulgently at his little brother and sister. Thorin stood and watched, torn but knowing in his heart that Kili would be safer here, with his girl and Oin, than going to meet a dragon with such an injury.

 

The morning brought bright sunlight through the ratty drapes, and Elya groaned, tongue roving inside her mouth to try and scrape away the awful fuzzy feeling.

 

Kili moved behind her, rolling closer so he lay halfway atop her, huffing through his nose against her shoulder. She sighed, and then realized that she couldn't move her arms because one was under her head and the other had her fingers wrapped between his, resting over her breast.

 

She couldn’t help her giggle, even as slight embarrassment filled her. Kili grunted, hands squeezing and it made her giggle harder, because he didn’t seem to realize he had a palmful.

 

He made a querying noise, and she twisted to catch his eye. She could barely see him, his hair was such a mess over his face, but when she twisted, his hand shifted with her and he seemed to pat at her, wondering why her shoulder was so soft and boneless.

 

“Oh.” His eyes widened, and his hand slipped from hers, dropping to her stomach. His fingers spread wide, and she in a small breath.

 

 “Sorry.” Kili coughed, the pinkness to his ears was endearing.

 

She hummed, stretching and aching somewhat. It felt like she hadn’t moved an inch all night, laying like a log.

 

Kili groaned when he sat up, teeth gritting when he tried to swing his legs over the side. He was worse this morning.

 

“Kili, you’re far too pale.” Elya said quietly, eyeing the way his hair fell dark and shadowy over his white face.

 

“Durin’s day is tomorrow.” He told her, a pained look in his eyes. “I need to be there. I need to.”

 

Although she thought his life and health was more important than waking up a dragon, Elya said nothing, choosing to sit up with him and leave a soft kiss on his brow. He closed his eyes and leaned into her. She liked being able to show her affection like this, it felt so easy.

 

“Alright.” she whispered. “Come on.” They dressed in the extra layers the lake men had provided them, and Kili nearly buckled under the weight of his mail. His expression turned stubborn, and Elya knew she wouldn’t be able to change his mind. Elya hugged Bilbo when they got down to the front door, finding the rest of the dwarves in varying states of their hangovers. Bilbo yawned into her shoulder.

 

“How are you feeling?” Bilbo asked her.

 

“Fine.” Elya smiled weakly, “Tired.” And a little downcast because the rest of the group was a mixture of grumpy, quiet, or unnerved. They approached the mountain today. It loomed tall and foreboding over the lake, simultaneously warning them away and calling them home.

 

They exited the house, taken aback by the sudden outcry of a crowd. The people of Laketown had come out to see them off. They cheered, and rang bells, and heaved on trumpets. Oin glowered at them, grumbling about being too loud in the morning, and Elya wondered how the rest of them felt if _Oin_ was irritated by their noise.

 

They got to a boat prepared for them, and the dwarves set about getting their materials into it. Fili jumped in first and Kili was headed in next when Thorin put a strong hand on his shoulder.

 

“Not you.” Elya heard Thorin say, and she felt more than saw Kili’s body jerk.

 

“What?” Kili sounded so young. “Uncle-!”

 

“You are injured, I cannot have you risking our mission.”

 

Elya couldn’t help her gape, that was not the nicest way to go about this. She would have thought that as Kili’s Uncle, he’d be a bit more emotionally aware. Fili was as shocked at her, staring up at them.

 

But Thorin was firm, and Kili stumbled away. He collapsed onto a barrel, sweating and hurt.  Elya knelt at his injury, peeling away the sloppy bandages to show Oin, who muttered under his breath.

 

“You cannot tell him no, not after raising him on stories of our home, of Erebor!” Fili hissed at Thorin, who refused to bend. There was a depth to his eyes however, one that Elya thought might mean he worried so for Kili.

 

“You belong with the company!” Thorin said, grasping Fili’s arm.

 

“I belong with my brother!” Fili growled, and tore himself away. He crossed to where Kili slumped, putting his arm around his little brother. There was no question whether Elya would stay, she would not turn around to meet Thorin’s gaze.

 

Thorin grimaced, but eventually turned away, barking at the rest of them to get going. The people of Laketown waved them away. Elya only looked back once, but the boat had already been swallowed by the crowds, turned down a side channel to leave them all behind.

 

Elya hissed when Kili’s wound oozed a horrible black goop, what once could have been blood but was now poisoned.

 

“Wait!” Bofur burst onto the deck, sighing as he saw the boat was already too far away,

 

Kili made a strangled noise when Oin pressed at the open ooze, and Bofur turned to find them there. He smiled blithely, “Oh, did you miss the boat too?” The ditz.

 

The smile dropped when he found Kili getting worse, and fell into a frown when one of the guardsmen refused them entrance into the house they had been using. He sneered them away.

 

“Why didn’t you leave with your _king_?” The way he said it was highly irritating, and she was sure if Kili wasn’t hanging onto Fili and Oin for dear life, one of them would have punched him in the face.

 

“What do we do now?” Bofur asked, at a loss.

 

“Bard.” Elya gasped, trying to help Fili keep his brother on his feet.

 

“What?” Bofur whirled around.

 

“Find Bard’s house.” Elya panted, “He was kind. We need kindness.”

 

And they did, badly. The people of Laketown averted their eyes when they saw them pass, something quite like fear forcing them to walk faster, to avoid them. Elya wondered if it was the threat of the dragon, or the threat of the master that kept them from helping. Or, if they felt like helping at all.

 

Bard tried to shut the door, but Bofur cried out for him, “Please!”

 

“Kili’s sick.”

 

Bard’s jaw clenched, he looked tempted to close the door in their faces. Kili made a grunting noise, and Bard looked at the rest of them, dark eyes conflicted. Elya pleaded for help with her eyes, and he eventually grit his teeth and let them in. Bard made sure they weren’t followed.

 

“Thank you.” Elya told him, catching his hand. “You didn’t need to.”

 

Bard shook his head, patting her back. He said nothing beyond offering them his home and hearth.

 

“Elya, child,” Oin asked of her, “boil some water. We need to purge this from him. It’s infected...possibly even poisoned.”

 

Elya nodded, and smiled weakly when Sigrid came to help, gathering the kettle for her and showing her where the herbs and such were kept. There weren’t many, but Elya felt the keen sting of this family’s generosity.

 

She only hoped that it would help Kili, who grew more and more erratic as the sun drew low.

 


	9. Dragonfire

“How do you think the others are doing? Bofur and Fili and Elya and Kili?” Bilbo asked. “I hope his injury is getting better.”

 

“Fine, they are all together. Most likely tied at the hip, as usual.” Thorin grunted tiredly, thinking of his youngest nephews and their mysterious gifted girl. Bilbo laughed and left him standing there, returning to the fire for a hot beverage.

 

“That’s a sweet couple if I’ve ever seen one.” Balin cheerfully offered him a cup of tea, courtesy of Dori. “Married by next winter if I have my guess.” Thorin snorted.

 

“I cannot condone tying a prince with a girl with no name, skill, or family. She has no means to defend herself, and she has little in the way of qualities a dwarf council would approve.” Thorin sighed, rubbing his face, eyes turned towards Esgaroth and Laketown, where he knew his nephews as well as the girl and Bofur were kept safe from the dragon’s wrath.

 

“Elya’s not a fighter, no.” Balin thoughtfully said. He looked into Thorin’s eyes, serious. “She’s never been one. She doesn’t have to be. She’s oblivious, and frail, she forgets herself, and would prefer easier work than what we give her.” Thorin grunted, finding all of that true.

 

“But,” Balin amended with a pointed glance, “She is not weak-willed. She has always remained hearty and kind, and tries her best to live up to our expectations, usually exceeding them, might I add.” The old dwarf raised an eyebrow. “And besides, you don’t see Kili flourish half as well as when he has her in his arms. Do you not remember the goblin tunnels? Mirkwood? The lad turns into a dwarrow I would be happy to name shield brother when he has her to protect.”

 

Thorin rolled his eyes slightly. “That is not the only thing to base a marriage on, especially a dwarven one. You know our loves are intense.”

 

“Aye.” Balin raised both eyebrows. “But do you not also see Elya when she’s with him? She blooms like an especially rare flower whenever he’s nearby, and she encourages him in a way that reaches him like none other has before. They are each other's Ones, no mistake.”

 

Thorin growled, sick of talking about this. He was still undecided, as he had always just left the softer side of ruling to Dis, who took care of the wedding approvals and courting trials. Marriage and love were long extended things with many steps, arguments, tests, and troublesome rules that Elya and Kili had basically skipped entirely.

 

“You cannot ignore it.” Balin reminded him, as he turned to leave and watch the door for any change, “And if you refuse to give him the respect and attention he deserves, you will lose him.” With that ominous, and slightly baffling sentence, Balin turned away and went to stand with Bilbo. Thorin grunted, frowning, wondering why Balin thought he didn’t give Kili the same respect and attention that he gave Fili, that he gave all under his command.

 

The matter was dropped and forgotten in the wake of Durin’s day and then after that there was little time to consider Kili and Elya’s love life in the wake of dragonfire and terror.

 

Meanwhile, in Laketown, Elya and Kili were indeed nearby one another, though not in the best of spirits.

 

“There is a song in my soul, Kili,” she whispered, tears dotting her eyes, “and it says nothing good for us or our friends.”

 

“How do you mean?” Kili frowned, sweaty and pale, his eyes glazed slightly and looking like he didn’t even see her. He had worsened, so much so that she feared for his life. He had no colour, and indeed, lay there sweating in his suffering. All this from a tiny little arrow head.

 

“Oh misty eye of the mountain. I see fire. High on the mountain. I see fire. Desolation comes upon the sky.” She brokenly recited, the flaring in her heart made worse when the dwarf grit his teeth and shuddered on the bed, nearly throwing off Fili’s hands which pressed him down. She sucked back her tears, and rushed to help, Oin hurriedly mixing something in a bowl to at least ease the pain.

 

Kili cried out, huffing and sputtering, he turned almost violently into Elya’s lap when she sat next to him, hands cool on his cheeks and neck. “Elya, sing me a song. A nice one. Hushabye.” He panted, trembling and gripping at Fili’s arm and Bard’s bed spread. She exchanged worried and fearful looks with Fili, as Kili’s temperature continued to climb. Any worse and he’ll be boiling his brain out his ears.

 

“Sure, Kili, anything.” Elya whispered, swallowing and glancing around. Sigrid and Tilda were watching with blatant concern, the elder’s arms around the little one’s shoulders.

 

“He always liked this song, he wanted to hear it again since Rivendell.” Fili whispered to her, quiet enough that he didn’t distract them.

 

“A gentle breeze,” she started, her voice dry and unused. Clearing her throat pushed away most of the fear and terror that gripped her so tightly, and she sang again with stronger force, capturing Kili’s attention. “From Hushabye Mountain, blows softly, over Lullaby bay.” Kili’s consciousness seemed to come back into his eyes, and the hold Fili and Oin had on him weakened as his struggles ceased, mesmerized.

 

“--” Elya was about to continue when there was a creak, a snap, and then orcs started pouring into Bard’s home. Terrified, Elya screamed and grasped for anything to knock away the ugly face that now snarled at her. Kili kicked viciously as best he could at an orc who had dropped right at his feet.

 

“Down!” Elya hollered, lunging for Tilda and Sigrid, and knocking away the orc that was threatening them. It turned its attention to her.

 

“Elya!” Fili yelled, but he was overtaken by another orc.

 

It was a rush of fear and swords in a too small place, and now and then Elya felt a push from a dwarven hand. Kili getting her out of the way, Oin moving her further, Fili getting her down when she needed to duck. She still caught the frying pan Sigrid tossed at her, Tilda getting a good shot in with a plate before retreating under the table. Bain was a good lad as well, reacting fast and viciously with a bench and a particularly vicious looking cooking knife. And then she noticed long blonde hair, and then orcs were dying left and right.

 

And _red_ hair. “Tauriel!” She cried in relief, banging one of Bard’s pots so hard on the head of an orc that the pan dented and became useless. If the situation had been anything other than what it was, Elya would have hugged the elf woman.

 

After the arrival of the elves, the fight was over rather quickly, and Legolas glanced at them all once before rushing out, calling for Tauriel to come.

 

She started for the door, but was stopped by Kili’s cry of agony, collapsed where he was on the floorboards.

 

Elya sobbed, running to him and finding him hotter than before, the injury on his leg black and oozing. Her hands shook, too much was happening.

 

“We’re losing him!” Oin stressed to them all, looking at Tauriel who wore an expression of deep conflict. Elya couldn’t care anymore, wrapping her arms around Kili’s head, she pressed her lips to his forehead and rocked him, fighting the way he flailed.

 

Kili cried out again, and Elya vaguely heard Bofur’s voice, and then Tauriel was ordering him up on the table. Elya didn’t bother wiping her tears as she held Kili’s head steady for the men to get him up. She looked up at the elf maiden, desperate for any sort of comfort, and must have looked so pitiful that Tauriel reached for her cheek.

 

“Hush now, friend.” Tauriel said, rushing to crush the athelas plant between her hands, “I will save him.” And she started to chant in her beautiful language, shoving the whole of the plant into Kili’s leg without even a warning. Kili screamed so loud Elya was shocked the neighbors hadn’t come running, and she practically laid on him to keep him still.

 

“Come on Kili,” Elya whispered through her tears, knowing the dwarf was too far away to hear her, writhing and twisting as he was. They all held him down, Tilda and Sigrid too, the brave girls. And slowly, the tension left Kili’s body, his eye opened and he stared in undiluted shock and awe at Tauriel.

 

Oin too was watching her, listening with his horn, a look of distinct amazement on his face.

 

When she finished chanting, Tauriel released Kili’s wound and almost stumbled, falling back. Fili jumped forward to put a hand on her back, staring between her and Kili, who was blinking his way back to the real world.

 

“Elya?” He rasped, turning his head to look for her. She collapsed on him, gasping out her gratitude and relief.

 

“You great, lumbering, stupid, fool of a dwarf, damn it, Kili, I love you, you, you terrible, awful, stupid _fuc_ \--” Elya sobbed, cut off by his sudden kiss, hand tight and strong in her braided hair.

 

“Well, seems he’s much better now.” Bofur commented dryly, but not without great relief.

 

Elya broke from Kili, still wanting to rant at him but just happy that he was alive and smiling at her, tired. She stroked his face, urging him to close his eyes and get some rest. He did, sighing at the lack of pain, only that of the normal wound hurting him now instead of the feeling of his blood boiling under his skin.

 

“Tauriel.” Elya swallowed her tears, wiping them and standing tall, “I owe you everything, anything you want.” Elya looked up to the elf’s soft smiling eyes before giving a shaky laugh, rushing the woman and wrapping her arms around her middle.

 

Elya rested her head against the elf’s breast, holding her tight and smiling when she brought her own arms around Elya’s shoulders.

 

“It was in my power to do so, I require nothing from you.” Tauriel said, gentle. Elya drew back to look up at her.

 

“Still.” she said, exhaustion settling into her limbs. What a wild night. “If ever you need something, I will provide. You are my friend.”

 

“As you say, friend.” Tauriel put her hand to her chest and bowed her head, the elf version of the embrace Elya had just given her. Elya beamed, before moving to hug all the rest.

 

Fili kissed her forehead, and then bowed to Tauriel, offering her his service in payment for Kili’s life.

 

Elya turned to Sigrid and Tilda, who were still shaken by the appearance of the orcs and then elves and then this sudden quiet after such a battle in their own home. Elya hugged Tilda, who hid her face in her chest, and took hold of Sigrid’s hand.

 

“You two did well, your father will be proud.” Elya smiled, before pausing. “After he’s worried of course, and mostly likely smacked us around for putting you in danger.”  Sigrid gave a shaky laugh and Elya felt calmed that she wasn’t too frightened. Hardy children, these.

 

“Miss Elya?” Bain said a little shakily from the window, “What was that song you were singing, just now? Not the lullaby, but the, the fire one?” He seemed preoccupied with staring at something, staring towards the mountain.

 

Elya froze, holding Tilda tight. The girl looked up at both Bain and she, eyebrows furrowed in worry.

 

“What is it?” the girl asked, “What do you see Bain?”

 

“Fire.” He swallowed. “In the mountain.”

 

There was a rush to the window, and indeed, there was a bright golden light being emitted from the base of the Lonely Mountain. Elya licked her lips, hand suddenly taken by Bofur, who watched her with worry, waiting, she realized.

 

“Oh misty eye of the mountain, below.” She sang quietly, Kili sitting up behind her with his brother's help, Tauriel not too far from him, eyes distant and old.  The spot of light in the mountain did look something like an eye of a great monster bent on destruction, lumbering tall and silent in the night.

 

“Keep careful watch of my brother’s souls,

 

And should the sky be filled with, fire and smoke,”

 

Elya took a deep breath, the words to a song she never remembered learning rising out of her like truth on great wings.

 

“Keep watching over Durin’s sons.”

 

The dwarves were silenced, and Elya felt a strange power in her chest, forcing the words from her. She didn’t want to sing anymore, but that seemed irrelevant to whatever was pushing the song into her soul. The mountain gleamed in the night, and with the way they were all looking at her, Elya thought her companions were beginning to understand what was going to happen, the anticipation high on the air.

 

“If this is to end in fire,

 

Then we should all burn together

 

Watch the flames climb high

 

Into the night--”

 

Elya’s voice rose, growing with strength, because she could _see_ it, could see the great drake in her mind waking and stretching his neck out, teeth sharp and heart burning.

 

“I see fire inside the mountain,

 

I see fire burning the trees,

 

I see fire hollowing souls,

 

I see fire, blood in the breeze,” Elya wavered, mind suddenly open to the truth, to their fates. She nearly slumped, but Bofur clutched her tighter, and she could feel eyes on her form from all sides, could recognize Kili’s burning worry. But she had to finish, she had to...

 

“And as the sky is falling down,

 

It crashed into this lonely town,

 

And with the shadow upon the ground…”

 

There was a distant roar, a thundering shake, and everyone trembled, turning to the window, where the glowing golden light seemed to rise and fall, seemed to swell in the distance. A great flickering shape burst from it, climbing high into the night sky, and Elya sought to find her voice and finish,

 

“I hear my people screaming out...

 

Desolation comes upon the sky.”

 

There was a beat of silence, eyes flickering between her and the mountain, and into the sky, everyone looking to each other for hope, disbelieving.

 

“The dragon is awake. And he’s coming.” Tauriel said, hand clutching her dagger. “We must leave, quickly. Quickly!” she urged, and everyone burst into motion, Kili shaking off Fili’s efforts to help him rise.

 

Elya stood stock still for a second, horrified at herself for knowing that song, for not thinking of it sooner, and now her friends, this town, they were all in danger.

 

“Come on, Elya, love.” Bofur said, his eyes frightened but his voice was comforting as he could make it. He took her elbow, urging her onward, and Elya shuddered her way out of her own despair.

 

“Please, please save us.” Elya couldn't help whispering, not knowing who she was talking to. “Please, oh please.” She got to Kili, who put her under his arm as he was wont to do, and she helped him climb the steps down to where Bard’s small row boat sat bobbing in the water.

 

Smaug roared, and fell like devastation onto the wooden town built so precariously on the lake.

 

Elya couldn’t breathe, the scene of death, destruction, and flame burning through her mind made her listless to all else. Eyes wide with panic, Elya was deaf and blind, drowning, drowning, even amid the great swoops and roars of an attacking, enraged dragon. Her dream came back to her, and she could see this great eye watching her, sapping her of strength.

 

“Elya!” “ _Elya_!”

 

Elya gasped in pain, recoiling at a hard head butt, blinking the blackness from her eyes.

 

Kili’s gaze was dark and angry, the lingering exhaustion and pain from the arrow made his face pale and pinched, and his hair hung limp and lank. He pushed her hard against the side of the boat when the dragon swooped low over the town, streaming fire everywhere he went.

 

The other occupants of the boat were ignored for the moment, as Elya was completely captivated by the way Kili was glaring at her.

 

He put his mouth next to her ear, hands gripping incredibly tight, tight enough to hurt on her arm and her neck. “You’re mine and I’m yours.” He growled, teeth almost at her ear.

 

“What?” Elya gasped, unable to process.

 

“You’re _mine_ , and I’m _yours_ ,” he bit out, “and nothing’s going to take that away, not even an oversized lizard! You hear me?”

 

Elya nodded, her bout of doubt and fear abated for now. “I hear you.”  

 

“Now come on!” He pushed an oar into her hand. Elya took a deep breath and set about getting her side of the boat moving. Tilda and Sigrid held each other tightly just in front of her, with Bain just in front of them.

 

“Da!” He suddenly screamed, pointing to the top of the bell tower. Elya gasped at finding Bard standing tall upon it, firing arrows at the dragon as he swooped by and over. It was in vain however, as no arrow could pierce the hide.

 

The boat nearly upset when Bain launched himself up and out of it, gripping tight to a hook pulley and swinging himself away. His sisters cried out for him and Tauriel halted Bofur’s attempts to run after him.

 

“We cannot go back!”

 

“But it’s _Bain_!” Tilda sobbed.

 

Elya swallowed and reached over to grip the girls’ hands. “He’s gone to help your father. Remember, the black arrow? All we can do now is get out of their way. Come on.” She handed Sigrid her brother’s oar, and they were off again.

 

The town burned all around them, people ran screaming back and forth, but their boat had no room for another. Somebody burst out of a top story window, screaming and on fire, and fell with a splash to the water. Elya didn’t look as they passed.

 

Their boat was nearly tipped once again when a large, treasure filled scow rammed into their side.

 

“Get out of the way!” a rough man’s voice cried, one of the towns guardsmen. It was the Master’s boat, Alfrid and he ignoring the desperate cries of their people around them.

 

“Disgusting.” Elya muttered, watching how the gold fell over the sides just to sink to the bottom of the lake.

 

“Greed and avarice.” Fili snarled uncharacteristically, blue eyes glinting cold and frost like in the fiery atmosphere.

 

As they drew away from the burning town, Elya felt her heart rend at the looks of fear and grief on Sigrid and Tilda’s faces. Not only was their home burning, all their worldly items, but also their father faced down the dragon himself, their brother too right there in the centre of the flames.

 

The night grew colder the further away they went, but they all had their eyes on the town, on the way the dragon swooped and eventually landed, his voice booming unintelligibly over the waves. Elya was shocked by the size of him, by his rage.

 

And he was staring at the half-destroyed bell tower, where Elya could only guess that Bard and Bain were facing him down. The dragon spoke, but it was so dark and heavy that Elya shook to hear it, ears shuttering at the sound.

 

It was Fili who saw the flash of the arrow, and Smaug started to stumble, his cry echoing over the lake and up against the mountain sides.

 

“Has he, have they?” Elya gasped, clutching Kili’s arm around her middle.

 

“He has!” Kili cried, as they watched the dragon fight to claw his way into the air, getting as high as the clouds before he stilled and his fire dimmed in his chest.

 

Smaug fell, crashing into the remains of the town and causing a great wave to ripple out. Their boat was rocked with it, but it didn’t stop Bofur and Fili from cheering, or from Sigrid and Tilda laughing in relief. Kili turned to Elya and wrapped her up, kissing her fiercely on the mouth. Elya could only hold on, squeezing him back and feeling how their smiles crashed together through the kiss. Fili cheered again, wolf whistling at them, and Kili drew back to tackle him, as much as one could tackle in a boat.

 

“Your Da did it, he did it!” Elya squealed, seizing the girls in her arms. She grinned at the dwarves, at Tauriel, at Kili, who was triumphantly hugging his brother, crowing.

 

“The dragon is dead.” Tauriel sighed, and they continued to float towards the shore where a few campfires had sprung up, the remnants of Laketown, the survivors.

 

“I hope Da and Bain are okay.” Tilda whispered into the night, shivering into her shawl.

 

“They are.” Kili said, confidently. He continued rowing, but glanced back at them, somehow seeming like a pillar of strength even through the mist and the cold.

 

“We will reach the shore in less than a half hour.” Tauriel patted Sigrid’s shoulder, a little awkwardly but with all the grace of elf kind. Everyone took a turn at the paddles, pushing their boat slowly through the water following the few other boats that had managed to escape.

  
Dawn was soon approaching, and they reached the shore just as the sun began to peak its way beyond the ridge.

The people of Laketown were grieving and yet made quick work of building up camp, fires keeping a huddle of people warm, small children covered in soot and dried tear tracks. Old women shivered and shuddered, holding tight to their living children. There were cries of grief and hurt, terror and pain, and Elya shuddered inside to think that they had brought this down upon them.

She shared a pained grimace with Kili, who seemed suddenly beaten down by the destruction their quest had wrought on a people who didn’t deserve any more hardship.

“I must leave you, now.” Tauriel told them, as Tilda and Sigrid disappeared in their people’s crowd searching for the men of their family. Elya wanted to go see too if they were alright, but Fili and Bofur and Oin were itching to get to Erebor and see if their company had survived.

“So soon?” Elya said, frowning but holding one of Tauriel’s hands.

“Legolas will not wait long.” The red haired elf turned and looked outwards, to something neither Kili nor Elya could see.

“As you wish.” Kili sighed. “Thank you for saving my life.” He deliberated while the women hugged, Elya squeezing Tauriel’s middle tightly.

“Here,” Kili handed her something. Fili called for them both, the other dwarves heaving the boat back into the water. It was the stone he had borne from his mother, which had the runes for RETURN inscribed on its side. “That’s a promise from you now, for us to see you again.” Kili half-smiled at Tauriel, who seemed surprised yet touched.

“Goodbye, mellon.” Tauriel nodded her head, then loped off with the stone clutched tightly to her breast.

“She’s a good friend.” Elya whispered as they helped the boat into the water, “I hope she fares well.”

“Most likely better than us.” Kili tried to smile at her, but worry and fear made his expression tight. Exhaustion ran in great circles under his eyes and Elya felt deeply for him, knowing she probably looked just as drowned.

Then, they were floating back out into the lake, heading now towards the great peak of Erebor and keaving behind the remnants of Laketown’s people.


	10. Erebor

The walk from Laketown’s shores was tough, and it put a strain on all of them. Nobody had the strength to really go fast yet their hearts were tight with fear for their family, possibly dead in the rubble of the mountain. The mountain was immense, and every hour of walking brought it higher and higher above their heads.

Entering Erebor itself was rather frightening, if Elya was honest with herself. The broken doorway made a jagged scar in the mountain and it echoed something awful. Everywhere you looked there was broken rubble, cracks and stones that crawled up the sides of the walls.

It stunk in the stale way that old things do, with a heavy oil overtop that Elya could only think of being part of Smaug’s wrath. It was a heavy feeling, one that ratcheted their fear and worry up a thousand fold.

“Hello?!” Bofur called, voice a piping spear in the silence of Erebor’s halls. “Hello!” He echoed.

Elya gaped at the depth of the halls, how the walkways intersected and floated above such empty space, such incredible stonework.

“Wait!” A small voice cried, getting louder. “Wait!”

 

“Bilbo!” they all cried, Elya rushing forward to clasp him in a hug so tight he squeaked.

 

“We feared you eaten, my friend!” Bofur said cheerfully, clapping a hand on his shoulder. “Are the others this way?”

 

Bilbo stopped him, looking uncommonly serious, “No don’t go down there. There’s something wrong with them, with Thorin, you can’t--!” But Fili had brushed by him, eyes fixed on a soft glow coming from a large doorway, down several floors. Kili followed quickly behind, and Bofur after that.

 

“Fili!” Bilbo cried, almost desperately. “Fili, wait! Don’t go down there!”

 

“Bilbo, what is it? What’s wrong?” Elya whispered to him as they trailed after the rushing princes.

 

Bilbo watched her, eyes hollowed and changed. She swallowed, unnerved, and worried for the hobbit. The mountain didn’t agree with him.

 

“There’s a terrible sickness on that gold. Smaug had hoarded it for so long, he said, he said…” He bit his lip. “He said Thorin would go mad.”

 

“Mad? Like...like Thror was?”

 

Bilbo nodded, “Aye, and Lord Elrond had the same worries.”

 

Elya swallowed again, their feet taking them up to the door and then they were at the top of the stairs, looking down on an ocean of gold. Elya gasped, kneeling because she suddenly felt dizzy, clutching the edge of the stone walkway. It was endless, a roving mile of gold hills. A figure was moving, walking slowly across their gaze. He turned and suddenly it was Thorin, but crowned and robed like a king.

 

“Gold…” He whispered, to himself it seemed. “Gold beyond measure.” A sick love was in his voice, dulled like in a dream. He seemed to realize they were there with a few blinks, and he did not rush to greet them, happy they were alive. He drew back and chucked a large ball-size ruby at them, Fili catching it with a troubled frown.

 

“Welcome, my sister’s sons, to the great kingdom,” Thorin widened his arms, looking nearly delirious with happiness, “of Erebor.” His sigh echoed and rang off every coin and beautiful thing that resided in this hall.

 

“That doesn’t look like Thorin.” Elya whispered, eyes locked on the figure draped in wealthy robes, rings, and jewels.

 

Kili shook his head slightly, still dumbfounded, and Fili had a great frown on his face.

 

They found the others in a side chamber, Bofur rushing in to beam and hold his arms open.

 

“Balin!” He said, “Dwalin! Nori! Dori!” Dwalin hugged him first, and Fili and Kili laughed while they clutched at their friends. Elya sighed in relief, running to Bifur, who mumbled at her with an eye-creasing grin.

 

“Bombur!” Bofur laughed, and then Elya was caught in a three way hug of the Ur brothers. She couldn’t help but laugh even though she could barely breathe.

 

“Come, lads,” Dwalin beamed, clapping a hand to Kili’s back. Thankfully, Kili didn’t stumble, but he did grunt. “Come see the inheritance you deserve.” And then they were shown to the same treasure hall they found Thorin, who had disappeared. The dwarves dispersed, and Elya went slowly behind them, not really drawn to the sparkle of the gold or the gems. It was beautiful, that’s for sure, but there was a smell in the air that reminded her of a grease fire, of Smaug’s rage.

 

The dwarves, however, seemed to be having the time of their lives.

 

Kili would pick up a piece of jewelry and then turn and squint at her.

 

“What are you doing?” Elya asked, snorting a bit when he tried to look like he hadn’t been giving her the strangest look, scratching his head.

 

“I’m trying to find you something pretty.” Kili’s ears were slightly pink.

 

Elya humored him, waving him off. He scampered like a puppy, stopping now and then to tug something out of the treasure and lift it up to look at. Sometimes he would thread it onto his wrist to see, other times he would throw it behind him negligently, like it was worth nothing.

 

Elya just hoped she would stand up to the wealthy standards of Erebor.

 

He ran back, slipping on the heaps now and then and in one comical moment, falling completely on his face. Elya laughed, failing to stifle herself and missing how the other dwarves looked up at the ringing, bright sound echoing through the hall. Even Thorin had an indulgent smirk on his face from where he stood, surveying them all.

 

“Alright, here we go.” Kili returned to her, arms laden with gleaming gems and pockets bulging.

 

“Goodness, Kili, I don’t need any of this!” Elya snickered, letting him slip the necklaces around her neck, the tiaras on her head, the bracelets on her wrist, rings on her fingers, and hooking earrings on the top of her ears since her lobes weren’t pierced.

 

After he had placed when felt like several pounds worth of metal on her, Kili stepped back and eyed it all, thumbing his chin.

 

Fili snorted from nearby. “You can’t be serious.”

 

Kili was affronted. “What? I’m seeing which metals are the best, what stones bring out her eyes, whether her wrists are bold enough for a bracelet! I’m not gonna leave all of it on!”

 

“And you can’t see how none of it works?”

 

“Give me time!”

 

“Honestly, gentlemen.” Elya sighed and lifted a weighted wrist, everything clanking as it fell back to her elbow.  

 

Fili drew her to her feet and brought her over to where a large circular disk of gold stood on its edge against a pillar. She realized that it was a mirror, made completely out of gold and polished until she could see all their likeness in it with only minor warbling. Blinking, because she couldn't remember the last time she had seen herself, Elya took in her sooty and dirtied dress and the loose braided mess of her hair.

 

The amount of jewelry on her body though, made it hard to see herself at all.

 

“Uhm.” She hesitated to say anything, as both Kili and Fili were frowning at her, eyes raking in her form. Fili was rubbing his beard, fingers following his moustache braids. Kili’s head was turned sideways, almost like a puppy’s, and she flushed when she found his gaze locked on the curve of her hips, accentuated by a golden chain wrapped around her waist.

 

“Hmm.” Kili huffed. “You’re right.”

 

“Told you.” Fili smirked, before going about relieving her of the jewelry.

 

“What?” She sighed.

 

“None of it suits you, Elya. You’re far too beautiful.” Fili grinned at her, snickering when she rolled her eyes.

 

“Come on, now.”

 

“No, it’s true!” Fili turned to Kili, who had a thoughtful look in his eye. “Tell her.”

 

Fili was now the one wearing most of the jewelry, and laughingly Elya plopped the silver tiara onto his head. He preened, flexing and posing just to make her laugh.

 

“Far too beautiful.” Kili murmured, almost too low to hear. He was fiddling with something in his pocket, eyes dark and contemplative. But he seemed to shake it off rather soon, and the three made a game of finding as many pieces of jewelry or clothing as possible and piling it onto Fili until he could barely walk.

 

Their laughter rang loudly in the hall. Eventually, the glamor and newness of the treasure hoard grew stale, and they all grew very hungry.

 

After dinner, there was little else to do but go back to the treasure room, as every other dwarf in the company was still basking in it. Thorin especially was attempting to survey every corner that he could.

 

Time seemed to extend in here, in the shadows of the mountain hall. Nothing felt real except the gold, not even their past. The journey it took to get here seemed gather and father away every minute, every second passing in an Age. As much as she could see it happening to the dwarves, their blissful smiles and hazy eyes evidence of at least some form of dream, she fell prey to it too. The outside world was so far away….why did they have to worry about it?

 

Elya was distracted at one point by something long, thin and wooden sticking up out of the hills, looking slightly out of place in an entire room filled with metal. It turned out to be a bow meant for musical instruments, and she spent the next few minutes hunting down the accompanying fiddle, finding it half buried.

 

Elya laughed victoriously when she managed to fight the fiddle free, looking at it a second and appreciating the polished wood, smooth lines of gold inlay, and the craftsmanship of the strings. Even decades after the fall of Erebor, it looked in working condition. Dwarven craftsmanship was something to be in awe of.

 

She ran back to Kili, who sat on the stair staring out at the massive gold piles. Elya approached him and handed him the fiddle and bow, smiling at him encouragingly. He blinked back at her, looking down at the fiddle then back up, a small smile curling his lips.

 

“I remember you playing in Bag End, but I didn’t get to appreciate it.”

 

He took it from her, and plucked at a few of the strings. It rang in the emptiness of the hall, and Elya sat herself down to enjoy.

 

“Treasure beyond measure.” Kili said to her, setting the fiddle under his chin. He had a loopy smile on his face, his eyes sparkling.

 

Elya grinned, putting her own chin in her hands, elbows on her knees.

 

He played for her, and she enjoyed how he hammed it up, winking at her and stomping to his own beat. Within minutes of the music floated through the great hall, Bofur came running, practically surfing down a golden hill to reach them, a flute in his fist.

 

Their first night went happily, cheer and fun ringing through the air, amidst the shine and sparkle of their golden reward. The company gathered around the music players, and they ate and laughed and stayed up late through the night. Thorin was a marked absence.

 

The morning was not so cheerful, as Thorin called for them to suddenly build up the gate again into an impenetrable wall. Elya was shocked to find the refugees already climbing the hills towards them, wasn’t the dragon’s rage so far away now? It must have been ages ago. She had almost forgotten them. That realization sickened her, even as she watched the dwarves lug stone after stone towards the gate, stacking them with that canny sense of order that all dwarves possessed.

 

Thorin refused to give entry to Lake Town’s refugees, all ragged and fire burnt, who were streaming into Dale in search of shelter and warmth. The fog of the gold lifting, this didn’t sit well with Elya, who felt a terrible twist within her stomach every time she met the eyes of the dwarves. None could maintain eye contact but also couldn’t refuse their king’s orders. They couldn’t out of loyalty, and love.

 

“The dragon burnt their home. We woke the dragon.” Elya spoke lowly to Kili in an undertone, worried. “Women, children, starving men? It’s not right.”

 

“No.” Kili grunted, pulling along on a wagon, frowning thunderously much like his uncle does. “It’s not.”

 

He confronted Thorin when they reached the gate, Fili a silent presence at their back. Elya couldn’t life the rocks, but she could bring their water skins around for the dwarves to drink.

 

“They have _nothing_ , they have lost _everything_.” Kili spoke plainly, confused to find Thorin uncaring.

 

“Do not tell me of their suffering.” Thorin said, coldly, “I know it well. They should rejoice! Those who survive dragon fire have much to be grateful for.” His tone made Elya shiver, and she exchanged an uncomfortable look with Bilbo.

 

“Much to be grateful for?” Kili copied, but his uncle and king was already leaving.

 

“More stone!” Thorin boomed, stomping away.

 

“Come on, brother.” Fili said, smile a little weak around the edges. Kili grunted, and helped, but his expression of disapproval did not change.

 

Come the next morning, when they had all risen with empty bellies and emptier hopes, Thorin’s darkness had deepened. The elves of Mirkwood had arrived, seeking their “fair share”.

 

Thorin was not kind to Bard, who had come to treat with them.

 

“He promised.” Kili said quietly, as Thorin turned his back on the company and on Bard. “He promised them gold.”

 

“Nobody can eat gold.” Elya quoted Bard’s parting remarks, and squeezed his hand.

 

She sighed and watched Bard disappear back to Dale, where the shining armor of the elves made it clear they weren’t going anywhere. The dwarves slowly left, going about their business. She sighed again and left, hoping to find a comb and maybe manage to do her hair, it still stunk like a grease fire.

 

Elya didn’t think about it. It was such a normal activity, such a normal time. She had secluded herself away for a small wash and now sat combing out her hair. Bifur and Bofur were busy looking for the Arkenstone, Kili was somewhere at the front of the mountain trying to shoot down passing birds and she completely thought she was alone.

 

She ran across the glowing bead in her hair, and pulled it around to lie on her chest. Her hair had grown longer on the journey, and the bead now took more effort to hide. It was habit now, as she didn’t really understand why Gandalf and Elrond had all told her to hide the bead. Now as she looked at it she wondered if it was brighter.

 

Humming, she shrugged and went about combing and braiding her hair, leaving the bead for last. It wouldn’t be as good as Bifur could do, but she expected him to sit her down and fix it the first time she went out in public with her pitiful attempts at hair doing.

 

What she wasn’t expecting, was Thorin to come looking for Kili and finding her with the bead shining brightly against her collarbone.

 

“What is this.” His dark voice shook, startling her.

 

“Oh-What Thorin!” She turned her upper body, still sitting on the ground and her hands occupied with her hair. “What’s what?”

 

“You claim to have no interest and yet you lie to my face.” His eyes were heavy beneath the weight of his crown, and the rage in his voice gave her pause. He took an intimidating step forward.

 

She was immediately reminded that they were alone.

 

“Sorry?” Elya frowned, “What are you talking about Thorin?” and dropped her hands. In the movement, the bead rolled along her chest and she froze, suddenly understanding.

 

“The bead.” Thorin snarled, stomping towards her. Elya scrambled back, trying to get to her feet but not being fast enough. Thorin seized her by her hair, rough and cruel, and she cried out in shock. Whatever anger Thorin felt, whatever rage he held against her, he’d never before been physical.

 

“This is part of the Arkenstone.” His voice trembled as he tugged her up painfully to look closer at the bead. “Did you steal it? Hide it?! Destroyed it for your own perverse use?!”” He roared, tightening his grip and lifting her high by the hair.

 

Tears sprung to Elya’s eyes at the sharp pain of her scalp, forcing her to cry out. She clutched at his fist to take her weight off her hair, but he still gripped her so firmly the pain was constant. This was an uncomfortable reminder of the Goblin King, and Elya swore she smelled his rancid odor.

 

“I didn’t, this is old, I’ve had this since I woke up in the Shire, I don’t have the stone!” She squealed, frightened. Her feet scrambled against the stone ineffectually.

 

“Lies.” He hissed, “Someone of your kind does not deserve the wealth that Erebor holds.”

 

“I’m not lying! I swear!”

 

“Remove yourself from my sight and never again darken this mountain’s shadow.” He boomed, disdainful and full of contempt for her. “A wizard’s creature is nothing to a dwarf.”

 

And in a move so quick she couldn’t follow it, Thorin took out a knife, carved it through her hair and let her drop harshly on the ground. Stunned, Elya glanced up to see him look down at her a few moments, dropping her hair to the floor but keeping the bead. He turned and walked out, his footsteps receding with long echoes, his head bent to look at the shine and glimmer of the bead she had carried for months.

 

Elya shuddered, feeling the cold of the stone pierce up to her skin, and stared horrified at the pile of hair in front of her.

 

It happened so fast, so quickly, Elya felt blindsided, shocked at the sudden turn to Thorin’s personality. She breathed shakily, and after a minute or two realized she was on the verge of tears. Deep, body wracking sobs soon followed and she wrapped her arms around herself.

 

What now? She was ordered by the king to leave Erebor. Maybe the people of Laketown? Bard would possibly take her in, but that meant, that meant.

 

That meant leaving the dwarves, leaving Bofur and Bifur and Bombur, Bilbo, and Fili and _Kili_ , and everything within her refused.

 

Sometime later, she couldn’t tell how long, Elya realized she had been crying for a long time and someone would start looking for her if she didn’t show up. Rubbing her face, Elya took a deep fortifying breath, climbing to her feet. She hiccupped and sniffed, and tried to rub the redness out of her face. A scuff at the door made her freeze.

 

Luck had decided to leave her, as Kili stood at the mouth of the bathing room and his dark eyes were fixed on the small pile of hair, the braid lying there innocently. Elya’s voice dried up, absurdly she felt ashamed.

 

“Elya… who?” He started, confused and alarmed, but something made him pause. There was a feeling in the air that he recognized as the weight of the dragon, that odd, smoky kind of oil that hung heavily on their souls.

 

Elya opened her mouth, but still nothing would come out. She turned her head away to hide the damage, tears surging up once more to twist her face into an ugly mess.

 

“Elya.” He said again, firmer, and yet when he approached, stopping to a crouch just at the braid between them, his hands were gentle in their urging.

 

She sobbed, hands covering her face. He pet her head, moving it so he could see the frayed end result of Thorin’s attack, a chunk of hair, unevenly cut, and an empty space where before the braid and the bead had sat. Kili breathed in sharply, shocked.

 

“Elya,” he breathed, voice shaking, “Was this Thorin?”

 

She didn’t want to speak, she didn’t want to tell him that it had been Thorin, that it had been his beloved uncle, she couldn’t do that, not to Kili. Kili loved Thorin, utterly, how could she tell him that he was going mad?

 

Kili stepped closer, took her hands away from her face and replaced them with his. “Elya.” He touched their foreheads together in the way she sometimes saw the dwarves do. It was a gesture of family, of love, and a gentleness that Elya knew few realized about the usually rough and tumble dwarves.

 

Elya could see it in his eyes. He knew it. Shakily, she nodded, hating herself for how his expression broke open and revealed the pain behind him. She wrapped her arms around him, and he set his chin atop her head. They both looked down to where the braid lay. Stooping, Elya hesitated but eventually took it up in her hand. It lay limp and dull, no longer as beautiful as it once was.

 

She, without speaking, opened Kili’s tunic at the front and slipped the braid into his inner pocket. She smoothed it down on his chest and took a deep breathe.

 

“Come on.” She croaked.

 

Kili took a minute to do her hair back up into a bun, the cut portion stark and obvious against her neck. Then, he leaned forward and kissed her, gently. His sweetness was a startling difference to his uncle’s roughness, and it awed her how he could still be so loving, even in the midst of their turmoil.

 

The rest of the company had slowly removed themselves from the treasury, choosing instead to gather in a side chamber filled with books, blankets, and rows upon rows of empty jars. As their dinners slowed and became thinner and thinner, they had started sticking closer together, always exchanging worried glances between them, out of Thorin’s sight.

 

Kili entered and was immediately set upon by Dori and Nori.

 

“Where’s Thorin?”

 

“I don’t know.” Kili shook his head, eyes darkening in anger at the thought of his uncle. “Fili?”

 

“Not here.” Nori showed him something Elya couldn’t see. “This is all that’s left. What do we do?” Food then, the last of the supplies from Laketown, which wasn’t very much in the first place.

 

Elya couldn’t hear what Kili said because all of a sudden, Bifur was right beside her and making frantic, heartbroken noises. She grimaced when it became clear he was reaching for her hair.

 

She didn’t know what to say, so instead she drew the quiet dwarf into her arms and buried her face in his shoulder. Bifur squeezed her tight before walking her over to Bofur, who looked stunned at the sight of her hair.

 

“Oh, little sister.” Bofur sighed, hugging her as well. Elya sniffled and cursed herself for crying some more after her afternoon of tears.

 

Bifur said something angrily in Khuzdul, and it caused a tense silence in the room. Everyone was looking at Kili. He ran a jerky hand over his hair, teeth gritting hard enough that his jaw flickered in the torchlight.

 

“There's not much to do. Not with the door blocked.” He didn’t say that they were the ones to block it in the first place. “Dain’s coming within the next twenty four hours, but even when he does arrive, there will be a fight on our doorstep. If….if worse comes to worse…” Kili grimaced, looking pained. “We’ll have to leave the mountain.” He swallowed thickly around it, because it was essentially an act of treason to circumvent Thorin’s decree.

 

There was a beat of silence, then Dori nodded. “As you say, my prince.” And then a chorus of agreement followed him, even though Kili hadn’t made any kind of order. They all dispersed, Bombur going to his watch and the others either bunking down to sleep, or to talk around the fire. Kili stood, deciding, before he slumped and went, beckoning to Elya.

 

She hugged Bifur one last time, and reached out to touch Bilbo's hand on her way by. Being underground didn’t agree with the hobbit, he only looked worse and worse as the days went by.

 

Elya caught up to Kili and took his hand then too, almost feeling his turmoil from beside him. They passed by an opening, and found Fili there. The blonde was thinking deeply, a hand covering his mouth and his eyebrows betraying his own turmoil. Deep lines were inscribed on his face, making him seem much older than he was.

 

“Fili.” Kili said, almost relieved to find him out of the treasure room, away from Thorin. Fili jerked, and looked about to say something, a tired smile flicking around his eyes, but then Thorin’s voice called from deeper within. The throne room.

 

“Fili, enter.”

 

Elya twitched and flinched behind Kili, absurdly thinking that Thorin could possibly see her through the doors. Kili’s hand clenched on hers.

 

Fili offered them an apologetic smile, but turned away and entered the throne room at his uncle’s call. Not once did he speak.

 

Kili seemed to be made of stone, and the lost, hurt look on his face practically punched Elya in the gut. She tugged, and he went, trailing after her forlornly without his brother or uncle around to tell him what to do, to show him how to be.

 

They found an antechamber, one that had no disturbed dust, and sat quietly together. Elya’s hand kept going to her hair, before she would realize and clench it in her lap.

 

Kili was grim, one hand covering his mouth and his other arm wrapped around himself, as if it was holding him together.

 

“I don’t know what to do, Elya.” His eyes were tortured. She reached for him and he came, crawling to her side and letting his head rest limply against her chest. She put her arms around him and felt wholly incapable of comfort, but she ran her fingers through his hair and rocked him a little, cuddling him close.

 

“Thorin’s gone mad, Fili is drowning, and the Company is fracturing in front of us. I’m not suited to command or to take charge, I’ve not been trained and I would do an even worse job than a mad king.” He swallowed, hands clutching at her hips and skirt.

 

Elya’s heart was near beating out of her chest, “You are doing all you can, Kili, there’s not much else you can do. You are of Durin, and a prince, and you are strong besides.”

 

“But I’m not, I’m not really Durin’s son, nor a prince.” He laughed bitterly, “While Fili was in council, or in training, I was goofing off, making a mess of myself and bringing shame on my mother.”

 

“Kili, Kili no,” She cried, bending her head to try to catch his eyes but he had buried them in the fabric of her dress. “Thorin loves you, Fili loves you, I bet your mother loves you more than _life_ , and whatever you do, you are their family.”

 

His shoulders shook, and he drew back, sitting back and turning so he leaned against the wall. Elya followed him, tugged sideways into his lap and pressed as much of herself as she could against him. His eyes were wet, but he didn’t cry.

 

“The King, the Heir, and the Spare.” Kili said, clearly, like a mantra. Elya swallowed at the resignation in his face. “I always knew it, especially when Thorin would come for Fili and insist I stay behind. Especially when all the dwarf lords and dwarrow warriors would look at me and see someone so unsuited to royalty, so flippant and weak.” His lips twisted. “I am not for the throne, and honestly I never wanted it. I’m the spare, the just in case. All I wanted was to carry my own share of the weight, make it easier on Fili, or Uncle. But I can’t even handle that, when they’re...they’re...” When they’re ill with dragon sickness and utterly incapable of making rational decisions.

 

A strange cross between angry and saddened, Elya took his face in her hands and kissed him suddenly, pushing harder and harder until his head hit the wall and their lips felt bruised. They kissed roughly, him seizing her tightly and she putting both hands in his hair to grip and pull. They broke apart, breathing roughly, and Elya was thrilled at the sight of his gaze centered on her.

 

“If you’re the spare, then you’re my spare.” She told him, frowning aggressively and yanking on his hair when it seemed he was about to glance away. “You’re mine, and I’m yours. Isn’t that what you said? I was put here on this earth for Durin’s line and I damn well get to decide which Durin I belong to.” She softened, kissing him again but lightly, savoring the feeling of roughed up lips and dragging slowly, across the stubble of his cheek.

 

Kili relaxed at the feeling, his hold on her tighter than ever. Elya continued, desperate to get that helpless look out of his eye.

 

“You are not trained for ruling, nor for command.” She told him, eyes furious and alight. “But you are a warrior, you have survived goblins and orcs and wargs and trolls and spiders and elves and dragon fire.” He grinned a little at the listing, thumbs moving idly against the boniness of her hip. “You have travelled with these dwarves for months, they know you and you know them. You aren’t ruling them forever, you’re not the king, but you are a prince and you are _their_ prince.”

 

Kili was silent, watching her. Elya smiled at him. “You’re _my_ prince.” He closed his eyes.

 

“The Company respects you and honours you, you just have to believe in them.” Elya smoothed his hair down, brushing her fingertips along his neck and his collarbone. “And,” She sighed, “And in your Uncle and your brother. They will come back.” She pressed a light kiss to his knuckles.

 

Kili glanced down for an instant, looking through her, before he straightened suddenly, taking her up into his arms and standing, lifting her high above his head. She laughed, surprised, and clung to his shoulders as he stared up at her.

 

“Where would I be without you?” He asked, teeth gleaming white in the low light.

 

“Here, but without me!” Elya laughed again.

 

He grinned when he dropped her to rest against his chest, making her squeal. They spun slowly, Elya still caught up in his arms and their faces close together. Kili ran a hand up her back and into her hair, unerringly finding the ruined spot where the braid and the bead had rested. He cupped her head there, tightening his grip until she was breathless and immobilized.

 

He rested their foreheads together, eyes dark and piercing. “I love you, Elya.” Kili said solemnly, simply, “You know that, right?”

 

Elya’s eyes couldn't help but water, her mouth breaking into the sweetest, most sincere smile. “I love you, Kili. Of course I know.” He brought their mouths together and they swayed a moment, caught up in themselves. Then, she wiggled till her feet were on the floor and beamed at him, drawing back.

 

“Let’s go?” She asked him, and he gave her a flourishing bow, back to his usual self. There was a determination in his spine though, a drive that Elya privately thought she had helped put there. The thought made something dark and warm settle in her stomach, an odd mix of pride, possessiveness, love, and desire that made her purr. She tingled still from when he had gripped her hair so tightly, and if they survived all of this, Elya swore she was going to find him and pin him to a wall somewhere private.

 

He glanced at her, and the equally dark look in his eyes told her that maybe he was thinking the very same thing.

 

 


	11. War Plains

Thorin ordered the dwarves in to equip themselves, and they pulled dusty weapons off the walls. Elya hadn’t seen them in full armour before, and it changed the company from dwarves she knew into warriors of a kind she’d never seen before. They were impressive, however, and she realized suddenly then, that they had been through so much whereas she had been through so little. One measly journey across the world didn’t stand up to decades and decades of living roughly as these dwarves had done. Kili put on his armor and transformed, the look in his eyes telling her that he was not pleased to be wearing the metal of his forefathers. His admiration and pride had turned into sadness, into shame.

 

Thorin eyed them all like a proud father, yet why they were arming themselves seemed to sicken most of his men. Even Bilbo was dressed in a white mail shirt, his face as white as its rings.

 

Elya stood to the side, knowing in her heart that she would not be fighting. She would have to wait for her men to come back, and it itched at her with sharp claws. Going into battle was never in her cards. Doing so would be dangerous, for her, for her friends, for everyone. She could not, but they would. They could die, and she would not know until their bodies were recovered, decomposing in the sun…

 

The thought made her ill.

 

Thorin called them out, and the dwarves marched, eyes forward, weapons on hand. Elya trailed after them, heart hurting and shying away from where Thorin eyed them all. The breeze of the mountain making her shiver, even though she wore Kili’s furs. Bilbo fell into step with her, the both of them silent in the face of the coming catastrophe. Hobbits didn’t belong in war.

 

They stood on the parapet, watching the approach of the men of Dale and the Elves of Mirkwood.

 

Thranduil was not doing himself any favors, as even a glance from him enraged Thorin to the point of frothing.

 

“Nothing could convince me.” Thorin looked at them contemptuously.

 

“No?” Bard said, taking something out of his pocket.

 

A stone, about the size of his hand, that glowed and shone with all the light of the stars. Elya sucked in a breath, hearing the same come from Kili. It looked exactly like her hair bead, and it was…it was…

 

“The Arkenstone.” Thorin hoarsely whispered, looking crazed at the very sight of it. Elya unbidden, reached up to the wreck of her hair and wondered.

 

“How come you by the heirloom of our house?!” Kili cried, his jaw clenching. He was pale, in the dawn’s sunlight.

 

“It was given to us.” Bard tossed it up irreverently, and tucked it away in his pocket. While Elya was glad to see that it didn’t draw him the same way as it drew Thorin, she knew that the King under the Mountain would not lightly accept his flippant disrespect.

 

“A trick, it must be!” Thorin tried to convince himself, but the most unlikely of voices contradicted him.

 

“It’s not.” Bilbo stepped out. “I gave it to him.” And suddenly, Elya understood. She believed in her hobbit friend and knew that he did it to help them all, but she worried, feared for him, at the look in Thorin’s eyes.

 

“You…”

 

“You are changed, Thorin.” Bilbo stood tall, defiant. “The King I met in Bag End would never be so cruel, so callous! Would never doubt the loyalty of his kin!”

 

“You miserable rat.” Thorin snarled, and Elya moved to intercept when he nearly charged at Bilbo. Kili seized her though, moving her out of the way. She struggled, especially when Thorin threatened Bilbo’s life, holding him out over the battlement. Kili’s hands loosened in shock.

 

“Unhand him!” A voice boomed, and Elya nearly cried for relief – it was Gandalf! “If you do not like my Burglar, return him to me!”

 

Kili was moving, alongside Fili, and they got Bilbo away from their uncle. Elya felt fiercely proud when instead of quailing under their uncle’s hard gaze, his _rage_ , Kili and Fili stood their ground and blocked him from following the hobbit.

 

“Go, Bilbo, go!” Bofur urged.

 

The hobbit stumbled back. She squeezed his hand hard, and helped him throw the rope over the side for him to climb down. A scared glance back told her that Thorin was snarling like an animal down at Gandalf.

 

“Not striking a Kingly figure, are you, Thorin Oakenshield?” Gandalf was contemptuous, and Elya dearly hoped that Thorin listened.

 

“This is no time for arguing amongst ourselves, either!” Gandalf cried, his voice so striking it seemed to boom from everywhere at once. “An army of Gundabad orcs bears down on you from the North, will you not face them? Will you doom the rest of Dale’s people to die at their hands?”

 

Thorin scowled and his eyes were locked on the sunrise.

 

Elya clutched at Kili, meeting his worried gaze before there was a strange noise, like the drum of feet on the ground.

 

An army of dwarves crested the hill, and while everyone else shifted, Thorin seemed to relax. He smirked down at Thranduil and Bard, arrogant.

 

Elya didn’t know who it was, but his presence seemed to give the Company hope. He rode a great war hog, a scow of immense size, _a giant damn pig_ …and somehowit was intimidating.

“Lord Dain!” Dwalin cried, triumphant.

The two armies squared off, elves against dwarves, with men caught in the middle. Elya could see the tip of Gandalf’s hat, but no sign of a hobbit. Bilbo was just too small.

Dain had a large voice, as Elya could clearly hear him yell, “Why don’t you all just bugger off!” The small contingent of men shifted, but the elves stood firm. They seemed on the edge of confrontation, and Elya could taste the anticipation. And then a great earthquake shook the land, the mountain trembling. Across the plain a great worm burst from the earth, its mouth gaping wide and disgusting.

They all startled, crying out, staring in shock at something that they never thought could have existed before. Giant worms, chewing through the rock and then, war horns. It had chewed its way underground to their very doorstep, and behind it came an army, the dark armies Gandalf had spoken about. The armies marched out of the tunnels, heading towards where they all stood pinned against the mountain’s wall. Orcs and goblins, wargs and trolls, every manner of monster Elya knew wanted them all dead.

With a gaunt, haunted look, Thorin turned and left. He _left_. Leaving behind his Company staring after him, all the wind taken from their sails. Everything seemed on the edge of catastrophe, with the King himself turning his back on his countrymen and uncaring of the dark threat on his doorstep.

The Grey Mountain dwarves moved to intercept, their hatred of the orcs overriding their dislike of the elves. Dain’s dwarves raced to meet the charge of the orcs, who hadn’t stopped their rush towards them. They lined up, a measly three lines thick against the horde against them. Elya clutched at both Kili and Fili, frightened despite herself.

Elya cried out with the others, but her eyes were drawn up to something moving. It looked like a signpost, constructed up at the top of Raven Hill.

“Azog!” she yelled, pointing, recognizing the tall white figure even though he was so far away.

“That son of a –“ Fili’s next few words in Khuzdul were drowned out by a war horn.

 “The elves!” Bofur whispered, drawing attention to how Thranduil had given his command.  The Mirkwood soldiers sprang into a run, lithe and powerful. They leapt straight over the dwarven line, taking the brunt of the orc’s attack. Everything degenerated into dust clouds, screams, and the clang of metal on metal.

The Company stood tense, many grasped their weapons with tight fists. They watched Dain charge through, smacking orcs and wargs left and right.

“What do we do?” Nori asked, broadly.

“Wait.” Dwalin said, taking a deep breath. He took up his axes and then stomped away, heading towards the throne room.

They stood there watching the battle for several moments longer, until Ori couldn’t take it anymore.

“They’re dying out there, and, and we’re just standing here!” He turned away and scrambled back down to the entrance hall, arms around himself. Elya went after him, reaching him the same time as Dori and Nori.

“Ori darling,” Elya put her arms around him and he hid his face in her shoulder. Dori pet his hair and Nori awkwardly sat nearby, clutching his knives tightly.

“Why does he do nothing?” Kili whispered, the rest of the Company having followed them all down to stand beneath the gate, ashamed. The noise of the battle echoed to them, and they could the screams of men, of elves, the shrieks of orcs and wargs. It sat heavily on all of them.

“He has succumbed to the illness of his grandfather.” Balin sighed heavily, age and pain weighing him down. “It is as we all feared. Our quest is successful as much as it has become a tragedy.” He turned his white head towards the door, listening to the roar of the battle.

Ori sniffed and stood straighter, turning to his brother. Elya reached for Kili, who stood lost and alone, staring into the darkness where his uncle had disappeared.

Kili looked down at her, putting his arm around her shoulders. He pressed a kiss to her forehead, and they stood there silently. Dwalin appeared, defeat written across his face. He put a large hand on Kili’s shoulder, and then patted her head, before sighing and sitting down, broken. Dwalin put his face in his hands and refused to look up. Thorin had not listened.

Elya took a deep breath, sitting on a rock. Kili paced a few meters before stopping in front of her, kneeling to hide his face in her lap. Unsure, Elya ran her fingers through his hair, looking to Fili, who looked just as uncertain as she felt.

Chewing her lip, Elya took Kili’s head in her hands and made him look up at her. His hair was in his face, it would distract him while he fought. Her hands set about braiding it back, putting the braids behind his ears and accepting the ties Bifur suddenly appeared to give to her. Kili watched her, eyes wide, softening to melted pools.

There was no question, Kili would go out to fight eventually, pride and honour driving him from the safety of the mountain and into the fray. Most of the company would follow him, she thought, as would Fili.

She finished, and once she did there was a scrape of a boot from within the mountain. Thorin, sans his garish robes, emerged with his sword in hand.

Kili gripped her knees, before rising.

“I will not hide behind a wall of stone while others fight our battles _for us_!” Kili ground out, fists clenched. “It is not in my blood, Thorin.” His words were a plea, but one that said he would not wait any longer.

Thorin smiled, suddenly looking so much more like himself than he had since they entered the mountain’s shadow. “No.” He said, hand coming up to hold Kili’s neck. “It is not. Durin’s folk do not run from a fight.” He ran a palm over Kili’s new braids, and nodded to Elya, solemn and grave.

Elya breathed out a sigh of relief, the ugly tension in her stomach releasing for a moment knowing that Thorin, their Thorin, was himself again. The Company cheered and accepted Thorin back into their ranks. He stood tall and strong again, and hope bloomed in their hearts. He passed by, accepting his eldest nephew’s hug and once again commanding their attention and respect.

Kili pumped his fist, before turning to Elya, finding a smile to match his on her face. He embraced her, clasping her tightly.

Fear bloomed in her stomach again, as she could hear the others discussing how to break down the door. She clung tightly to Kili, breathing in his scent, savoring the strength of his arms.

“Come back to me.” She whispered into his neck.

He placed a kiss on hers in reply, hands large and warm on her back. He ran a hand into the hair, and kissed her on the mouth, long and drawn out and she nearly cried for the finality of it.

“I love you, my gift.”

Elya sobbed a laugh, “I love you, my Durin.”  He knocked their foreheads together gently, and Elya fought with herself to release him.

Kili stepped away, pain warring with pride in his eyes, and he went to help his uncle and brother. Bifur appeared before her, and swept her into his arms. She shuddered another sob into his shoulder, squeezing him tightly.

“Be safe, Bifur.” She told him, kissing his scraggly cheek. He nodded, handing her off to Bombur.

She went around the Company, hugging them and giving them luck. Never did the word “goodbye” leave her lips, and she tried desperately to keep her eyes dry. She reached Thorin, the last, and ignored his respectful bow to throw her arms around his neck.

“You have never been more a king.” She whispered into his hair, feeling how he clasped her tighter.

“Remain here.” He said, eyes entirely too aged, “Stay out of sight.”

“Yes, my king.” Elya replied, eyes dotted with tears. She looked again to Kili.

Then, everything sped up. They released the bell, and it crashed with a great clang through the gate. The entire battlefield froze, gaping at the scene, waiting for the King to emerge. It was as though the battle had been waiting for them, the dwarves backed into the shadow of the mountain, the elves gone to protect the people of Dale. The Company, with Thorin and his heirs at their point, charged out at their first chance, and they ran straight for the centre. The dwarves rallied, Dain’s voice echoing over the field:

“To the King!”

“To the _King_!”

And Elya could only see how Thorin and his nephews headed the vanguard. They disappeared in the midst of it all, and Elya could only swallow her fear, crying into her hands. Helpless she was, left behind. And she couldn’t even argue with it. She had no ability to fight, not in a battle like this. She stood at the remains of the parapet, having climbed up for the vantage of it, and watched as the dwarves she loved risked their lives to protect their mountain.

It seemed to drag on forever. She was sure hours were passing, but Elya couldn’t bring herself to leave or step away. Giant bats surged over the hillsides, flying in from the skies with piercing cries and the stink of their breath. Elya gasped when their giant, ugly claws would land on dwarf, man, elf, orc and warg alike, picking them up cruelly to let them fall many feet in the air. The battle shifted in focus, and suddenly there was a small piping, echoing voice that seemed to grow larger and larger.

“The eagles! The eagles are coming!” It was Bilbo, somewhere out there, in danger, in the field. “The eagles!” Elya couldn’t see him, could barely hear him, but just as he fell silent the great wingbeats of the eagles soared into the fray, bearing with them Beorn himself. The eagles sought out the bats with extreme prejudice, and considering they were double the size, had little trouble tearing into them.

Elya saw Beorn turn and roll off his own eagle, falling many hundreds of feet towards the battle.  He turned into a bear on his leap down, and landed with crunching satisfaction on a group of large, ugly orcs.

The tide turned, and the dust of the ground was kicked up until Elya could hardly see.

But then, Elya noticed that a couple figures had broken off from the bulk of the battle, heading towards the mountain.

She wanted to think that they were her friends, but the height of them, and the way they loped, was not dwarvish.

Two orcs were fleeing to Erebor, perhaps to steal what they could and then leave, or to lay in wait for the king himself. Elya had only minutes to decide what to do. She could hide, but where could she hide? She could run, but where could she run?

She had deliberated too long, the orcs were crawling up the remains of the stone wall. She spotted a nearby short sword, an extra that one of the dwarves hadn’t wanted to bear into battle. She picked it up, ducking down behind the rubble to listen with baited breath.

Elya licked her lips, heart pounding. Her hands held the sword tightly, it weighed her down something awful, but she was hoping she could take them by surprise. Surprised, she realized that she couldn’t leave. Her fear was thrumming under her skin, but it kept her still, kept her frozen. She was also hoping that they would pass by the mountain entirely, fleeing elsewhere. Those hopes were dashed when stones scattered below and their ugly voices made sneering remarks in black speech.

They were immediately below, and one spat out blood and spit onto the stone.

Elya was angry suddenly, anger to match the fear that tightened her chest. They would not enter the mountain.

Elya took two steps to leap off the ledge, falling towards the nearest orc. It was a long drop, but they weren’t expecting a small girl to fall on them. Air whistled passed but she couldn’t hear it.  Her sword caught one in the neck, and he died gurgling. Slamming into his twitching body, Elya bounced off, falling with a scatter against the rock. He was bigger than she thought he was, and the other was quick to whirl around and snarl. He saw it was just her, and his face changed to a smug one, a terrifying lust for violence in his beady black eyes.

“A female, all alone.” He said to her, thickly in common. “All alone to die.”

Elya stumbled to her feet, using all of her strength to tear the sword from his compatriot’s throat. She said nothing, teeth clenched so hard together she was afraid they would crack.

He charged her, and it was only her size that danced her away from his scimitar’s swing. IT wooshed passed her, and she realized she was going to die.

Dwalin’s practice could only do so much, as the orc was both bigger and stronger than her. Elya couldn’t last, couldn’t lift the sword high enough or hold it strong enough, it went flying out of her hands with one of his swings. He laughed at her, kicking her in the chest.

She fell back, the rocks and stones biting into her as she scrambled to back away. He followed.

The same moment he stomped down on one of her feet, pulverizing it, her hand skittered across the hilt of her sword. Agony shot through her, making her body jerk and flail. Her leg lit up white hot in pain, the bones having snapped audibly under his force. Her hands clenched tight.  She screamed.

He twisted his heel, leaning over her further to plunge his knife into her breast. She screamed again, but her hand had seized the hilt of the sword. He thrust downwards and she thrust up suddenly too, her body moving with the motion so his sword missed and plunged between two rocks behind her. It skittered against her ribs, but didn’t leave more than a few small slices.

Elya was shocked her sword bit so terribly through the orc’s armor, sinking into his chest to skewer him with his own force.

His face changed, becoming bewildered, and he twitched and fell, collapsing over her.

He stunk, and his weight made her foot throb worse.

Elya coughed, trying to shift though every move made fire race up her leg. She cried out when she finally escaped him, dragging her limp leg behind her. She quivered, trying to cry but not being able to breath. She’d killed him, killed them both and she felt like a monster. Was she dead? Pain washed out her senses and she must have passed out, because the next time she blinked she realized it was too quiet.

There was no battle noise. It was over. And no one had come for her. She lay several feet from the cold bodies of the orcs, half drenched in their blood, and she was freezing. Her foot was numb somewhat, but her whole body was numb. She felt like she did all those months ago, when she woke beneath the tree.

Elya breathed in the evening air, and watched the stars start to come out. Nobody had come for her. Then she would go find _them_.


	12. Victory in Death

Elya was found hobbling slowly and painfully across the battlefield by an elf gathering the dead. He said something in Sindarin, shocked by the state of her, and she could only give him a trembling smile.

 

“Please, could you take me to the king?” she requested, feeling as though any moment she would collapse. If Kili was going to be anywhere, it would be with his Uncle. “Thorin Oakenshield?” The elf’s eyes filled with a pity, one she didn’t understand, and he knelt and asked for permission to carry her.

 

The elf made better time than she ever could, and when she caught sight of a familiar hat, she cried out. “Gandalf!”

 

He turned to her, and relief passed through his eyes. “Oh, Elya, I’m glad you’re alright.”

 

“Elya?” Dwalin stuck his head out the tent flap, eyes red. He looked like he had been crying. Elya’s short term relief and happiness burst like a bubble, and when the elf set her gently down on her feet, she was already reaching up to Dwalin’s face.

 

“What’s wrong?” she asked, “What has happened?” That bad feeling came back, nearly choking her. He only shook his head.

 

Dwalin stood aside for her to enter, and immediately Elya could smell death. Thorin lay, pale and sweating on a cot, his wounds only covered by a white sheet rather than being tended to. Bilbo knelt by him, sobbing, both hands holding onto Thorin’s one large one. Balin stood, one hand covering his eyes, and Dain wasn’t far from him, standing tall and stone faced. Even King Thranduil stood, joined by Gandalf, silent in the corner. He had no visible injuries, but the weight of his aura told of many deep hurts in his heart.

 

Grief was palpable.

 

“Thorin?” Elya whispered, unsure of her welcome. Just the sight of the proud king laid low brought tears to her eyes, but she felt she had to control them, for now.

 

“Elya.” Thorin rasped, apparently done with whatever he had passed to Bilbo, who bowed his head and wiped his face as best he could.

 

Elya tried to smile, though it mostly felt like a twitch of her lips. “I think that’s the first time I’ve heard you say my name.” She couldn’t stand anymore, sinking onto her knees.

 

Thorin was in pain, she could see it in his eyes, but he swallowed and looked at her with such softness it sent something sharp shooting through her chest.

 

“You deserved it, long ago.” He shuddered in a breath, and the rattle of his chest shook her. The white space in the back of her mind pulsed, and started to grow. “I can only ask your forgiveness, for my deeds against you, though I cannot offer atonement beyond my words here. I believe I watched the price of my greed being struck down in front of me.” The pain in his eyes was twofold, and he heaved in air after such a long sentence.

 

“Thorin.” Balin tried to say, eyes wet and voice shaking. Thorin hushed him with a twitch of his hand, and Elya wondered why she felt so light, as the buzz in her mind extended to fill her head, her ears and eyes and nose, travelling down her neck.  

 

“You mean…” She asked, afraid. “Fili, and Kili? Where are they?” She looked at them all, desperate for something good, something kind in this midst of all this.

 

“In the tent over.” Dwalin said, voice thick, “Worse than he.” Worse than Thorin...did that...did that mean?

 

“No.” Elya whispered, agony searing through her heart despite the odd feeling of the light filling her body. It travelled onward, crawling out across her collar bones and working its way into her hands. The pain of her foot was forgotten in the face of her loss, the shine of Kili’s eyes, his smile flashing in her mind. The blonde of Fili’s hair. The roughness of their calluses, the brightness of their souls.

 

“Yes.” Thorin said, eyes growing misty and far-seeing. He was failing. “It is the end of Durin’s line.”

 

Like an arrow to the chest, Elya felt his words deep within her soul. She must have made a noise, because suddenly everyone was looking at her, she could feel the rest of the company slowly gathering outside the two tents. She could feel Fili in the other tent, slowly falling towards the darkness of Mando’s halls, tired and accepting. And Kili, struggling to stay afloat like one who knew the value of the air in his lungs, who could feel the crushing emptiness below. He was slowing as well, and her heart burned for her love.

 

“Elya, my dear?” Gandalf said to her, the wizard a powerful light amid the rest of them. “Are you feeling well?”

 

Elya didn't feel much of anything, the light had filled her totally and she knew now that this was the moment of her purpose. This was why she had been given life.

 

“I am, Olorin.” Elya said, her voice doubled as though speaking with many. “You were right.”

 

“I was?” He asked, bemused and a little amazed. Elya stood, her foot no longer paining her. The light within amplified, vibrated, filled her to the brim and she absently heard Dwalin startle behind her.

 

“By my beard!” Dain swore, jumping back and seizing his hammer up in his hands.

 

“She’s glowing like the sun,” came an awed voice from the tent flap. Ori, sweet, young Ori, whose voice was filled with something near reverence.

 

“No, don’t touch her.” Thranduil broke in, eyes fixed on the glowing girl standing at the foot of Thorin's bed, as though waiting. “She is filled with the Valar’s might, do not touch her.” Balin retreated from where he had been about to reach for her shoulder.

 

Thorin stirred from his repose, eyes sharpening just enough to center on her and stare, shocked.

 

“You are to die today, Thorin Oakenshield, son of Durin.” Elya spoke, her voice reverberating with power. It silenced them all, wizard, elf, and dwarf.

 

“So too, are your heirs to die today. Fili and Kili, sons of Dis.” Elya knew she was speaking words, she couldn’t understand them, but she knew every word to leave her mouth was truth, even though it hurt her to the bone.

 

“Your line ends, and Dain son of Nain becomes King under the Mountain.” Elya continued, images flickering across her eyes but with no meaning attached to them. “The Dwarves recede into their halls, the elves into their woods, the men into their cities. But when the Great End comes, the rise of the One who sent these Hordes to your gate,” Elya swept out a hand, and knew they understood her gesture to mean all of the Orcs, wargs, battle bats, all the evil that lay dead around them, Gandalf straightened, and he suddenly didn’t look like an old man anymore. He was something more, a light in his eyes that burned with immortality and power beyond the physical.

 

“When the end is nigh, it is Men, and Elves, and Hobbits who stand up and fight. It is Hobbits, the Small Folk, which show their true strength.” Elya looked, almost without seeing, to where Bilbo stood, small and unnoticed in this tent of giants. She smiled at him, soft and gentle, and it held all the grace and love of the Green Mother herself. Bilbo’s mouth dropped open, and he looked singularly awed.

 

“No dwarf leaves his mountain, they refuse to stand, they become part of their darkness and never again leave their chambers and halls. They die within them, with none outside to know it, and they pass into legend, into history.” Her words were a hammer, sending first Balin to his knees, and then Dwalin.

 

She was unforgiving, eyes fixed on Thorin's to drive in the horrendous truth to her words. “All save one, Gimli, Son of Gloin, who fought beside an elf and called him friend. He sailed to the Undying lands, beside his shield brother Legolas Greenleaf.” Behind them all Gloin sucked in a deep, shocked breath, listening desperately. Thranduil didn’t make a noise, but the sudden pain on his face was heartfelt.

 

Elya looked into the Elf King’s blue eyes, emotionless in the face of his grief. “He heard the gulls cry, calling him home.” Thranduil bent his neck under her gaze, submitting.

 

Returning to Thorin, Elya’s gaze sharpened, almost to the point that he felt her cut into him. “With your end comes the end of your nephews, your family line. Of your race. Tell me, Thorin Oakenshield,” she paused, stepping closer so she stood above him, she felt tall in a way she never thought was possible. She felt like she wasn’t human, like she was made of air and light and the vibrations of the world. “ _Do you regret?_ ” Thorin grit his teeth, snarling, pain washing his features.

 

There was movement around them, an aborted move to stop her, to _make_ her _stop_ , but Thorin and Elya didn’t so much as twitch, eyes locked. Finally, Thorin surrendered and his kingly gaze fell, the strength of his character and his core exposed to her, he turned and glanced at the tent wall, towards where Kili and Fili slipped closer and closer to death.

 

“I do.” He rasped, with his final breath, and all knew he wouldn’t ever breathe in again.

 

Dwalin gave a crushed cry, some of the Company were sobbing, Gandalf removed his great wizard’s hat.

 

But Elya, whose glow only strengthened, knelt at his side, and crouched over him. “The King.” She breathed.

 

“Stop her, get her away!” Dain tried to exclaim, but he was halted by Thranduil himself.

 

Elya leaned over and kissed Thorin, the light filling her to a near painful degree. And then it seemed to diminish, but she knew it was entering Thorin, filling him, and she remained kissing him until his threshold was met.

 

Drawing back, Elya parted their lips and took a deep breath, followed immediately by Thorin whose chest rose deeply with it. His color was back, he no longer sweat, and the stink of his wounds was gone.

 

“Bring them to me.” Elya rasped, her glow lessened but not gone. Gandalf rushed to do it, since no other seemed able to move. Their eyes were fixed on their king, where he breathed easily, without pain. And on her, where she knelt, glowing with that beautiful golden light.

 

Thorin opened his eyes when Kili had been set down next to his brother. They lay on cots, still in their battle armor. Both princes were pale and still, Fili it seemed, had already passed.

 

“The Heir.” Elya whispered, standing on shaking feet to take herself to Fili’s side, where she knelt over him and kissed him. Fili took longer, as her light was not as powerful and his threshold took longer to meet. But, when she parted their lips they breathed in at the same time, his flush was back and the hair on his head seemed to shine like all the gold in Erebor.

 

Elya fell sideways, trembling, heaving in air. She felt drained, empty, and bruised. But there was still, there was still…

 

Elya crawled to Kili, unable to stifle her tears. She felt more like herself now, less like the numbed powerful being she had just been.

 

“And the Spare,” Elya cried shakily, reaching Kili and taking his head in her hands. The familiar feel of his hair was torture on her, as was the stillness of his face. “My only, my heart, I give you all, everything left of me.” But as Elya leaned to kiss him, she knew she had none left.

 

She shared what she had, and it was enough to bring Kili to the surface for just a second. His arm lifted, to rest around her waist, and his head turned so they were kissing more fully, but his eyes did not open.  

 

Behind Elya, Fili rustled and lifted his head, blearily blinking his eyes. “Elya?” He asked, confused, and then, “Kili?”

 

Elya felt herself slipping, felt Kili slipping, and she was grateful that at least she got to hold him, one last time. Her head fell to the side, the kiss breaking, and both her and Kili stilled into an unnatural sleep. She lay across him, cuddled to him by his own last act, and they died together. Their hearts beat to a stop, and their bodies cooled.

 

“Kili!” Fili cried, shooting upward only to be pushed back down by Thorin, who had managed to stumble his way over to feel for himself the life in his nephew. The King had tears in his eyes, and he held Fili tightly.

 

“No, no, Kili! Elya!” Fili cried, trying to wake them, his voice faltering.

 

“ _Kili!_ ”


	13. Home

Agony twisted Fili, and he collapsed next to their bodies.

 

“She had enough for her King, and his Heir.” Gandalf rumbled solemnly, sadness in his heart, “But not enough for herself or for Kili. She saved Durin’s line but at a terrible cost.” Bilbo was crying again, his face ruddy with tears and dirt.

 

“Durin’s Gift.” Balin said mournfully. Bilbo sobbed, and the tent was heavy with it.

 

The Company covered the pair with a sheet without moving them, and Fili sat there unable to take his eyes away, drowning in shock. The company filed in to kneel and bow in grief at the dead’s side.

 

Thranduil swept away, face impassive but his steps respectful.

 

As things must, Thorin was called away to show himself to his people. Fili had to be dragged, dull and unresponsive as he was. Dain gave Elya’s body a shaky bow before leaving as well, to gather the Ironfoot and prepare for either travelling or repair work in Erebor.

 

It was much later, when nobody was around to see, that the two bodies under the white sheet took in breaths and shifted, moving. Fili and Thorin entered the tent to see about getting Kili and Elya the burials they deserved, sore with pain and grief, but something stopped them. The bodies were in a different position beneath the sheet.

 

Taking it off, there was a breath of stunned shock, where they took in how Elya had been turned on her side, and Kili pressed up behind her. Kili’s nose was nudging the back of her neck and Elya was clutching one of Kili’s hands up near her chest.

 

Rage filled the silence, because who would dare to move their bodies? Who had the _audacity_ to touch them, to put them in the same sleeping position anyone of the company had come to expect by morning, regardless of how they fell asleep? Who would know how?

 

Thorin was on the verge of bellowing like an enraged, grieving bull before a curious noise made itself known.

 

Kili was _snoring_ , snuffling loudly against Elya’s neck. At the noise Elya grumbled, jostling the dwarf wrapped around her with a pointy hip.

 

A draft came in from the open tent flap, cold and chilly due to the falling temperatures, and Elya shivered. She curled up tighter and whined something, ending with “--Kili--” Her whine extended his name as a childish call to go fix the problem.

 

Kili grunted, waking up, and lifting his head. “Uncle.” He said sleepily. “Who let the fire die out during the night? It’s freezing.”

 

“Kili.” Fili breathed, rushing his brother and falling over them both in a tackle of a hug. Elya squealed in surprise, and Kili swore before laughing, clutching back at his brother.

 

When Elya extracted herself from the tangle of brotherly limbs, she sat up and frowned. “Wasn’t I dead?” She mumbled, dark circles beneath her eyes. She looked up at Thorin, who stood there, still frozen. Her frown deepened. “Weren't _you_ dead?”

 

Thorin dumbly nodded, crossing to fall to his knees and pull Kili into a hug so tight the dwarf froze, head clutched to the King’s chest.

 

“Kili.” Thorin breathed. His eyes rose from Kili's hair to where Fili sat, struck dumb with happiness, and to where Elya watched him, somewhat warily.

 

He relinquished his youngest nephew, who was quickly snatched up by Fili again, and turned fully to Elya, doing something he’d never once done in his life. He knelt on his knees in the tent, putting his hands to the ground and bowed there, forehead nearly touching the carpet covered dirt. There was an intake of breath from them all, Elya especially, and yet Thorin stayed still.

 

“You have given back everything I hold dear. My life, and the lives of my nephews, my sister sons.” Thorin swallowed audibly, gaze still fixed to the ground, “My boys. I will give anything you ask, I will relinquish my throne, my claim, my name, and repent for all that I have done to you. I am just Thorin, and I am at your service.”

 

Elya was shocked still, eyes wide and staring at the King under the Mountain, who knelt before her and offered her his service, a thing he had never done in his life. Fili and Kili were gaping as well, but then Fili got a determined look on his face and moved to his own knees, bowing before Elya. He didn’t say anything, but he too stayed frighteningly still next to his uncle, offering himself. It felt like some kind of dwarven custom, something Elya didn’t know, but with the way Kili was staring at his brother and uncle, and then up to Elya, utterly gob smacked, she sort of grasped the gravity of the situation.

 

Swallowing, Elya slowly got up, confused by her lack of pain. Hadn’t that orc crushed her foot?

 

She cleared her throat, “You’re missing the point, Thorin Oakenshield.” The King twitched. “You were given life by those who live above us all, who create life and take it away. Durin’s line has been given a second chance, not by me but by the Valar. I am just their tool.” Elya licked her lips. She reached forward to grasp Thorin's shoulder, urging him to look up into her eyes. She watched him, looking deeply, searching for any hint of that madness and cruelty that the gold sickness had created within him, but all she could find was guilt, regret, and something close to awe.

 

“For the hurt you've caused _me_ ,” Elya smiled gently, sadly, “I forgive you. So long as you take this chance and you change the fate of your kin, of your race.”

 

Thorin took her hand in both of his, and kissed it, nodded solemnly. “I swear, hereby, to live as I have been instructed. Mahal witness me, I will.” And he sat up, clasping Kili on the shoulder. At Elya’s urging, Fili rose too, tears making tracks down his dirty face.

 

“Hush you silly thing,” Elya teased, “What would everyone think of the crown prince looking so ruffled?” He barked out a choked laugh and wrapped his arms around her, hugging her tightly.

 

“What’s going on?” Kili asked, a little plaintively. He had almost been forgotten, sitting here, and whatever it was Elya had done went straight over his head.

 

There was a strange noise, and they all paused to look at Thorin. The dour King had snorted.

 

No, Thorin was _laughing_.

 

“Don’t stress yourself, Kili. Your woman is merely much more important than everyone else who has ever lived, ourselves, kings, and wizards included.” Thorin shook his head, braids swinging.

 

“Ah.” Kili shrugged, reaching forward to tug Elya from Fili’s arms and into his own. He stuck his nose up at his brother, a little petulant that he had cuddled Elya for so long and in his presence, too! “Well, that I already knew.” He grinned at Elya, and she was suddenly overcome with joy that they were given this chance. She laughed, throwing her arms around his neck.

 

They had lived.

 

Dale was given to Bard, and Thorin made sure that the money Laketown was owed was put into chests and given without delay. He refused however, to look upon it and spent his days in council with Dain, Balin, and the other high standing dwarrows left alive from the battle. Eventually, there was even talk of a treaty between Thranduil’s people, Bard of Dale, and Erebor, though nothing was put down in writing. The battle was still too near, and funerals were given the top priority.

 

While the three Durin’s had been healed, their injuries still pulled in the way that a scar would, tender with new skin easily broken open by overuse. Thorin found out the hard way, one of his stab wounds opening when he had spent too much time on the fields, helping the dead bringers.

 

Elya hadn’t the heart to scold him after the wizard got through with him.

 

“After the Valar themselves have brought you back, what kind of moronic, stubborn, hard headed dwarf would kill himself through overwork after such an ordeal! _Stay-in-bed_!” Gandalf had never seemed so much like the wizard he was.

 

Thorin stayed in bed, but only until morning. Then, he was found mostly in the council tent, refusing to return to Erebor until every single injured dwarf could walk.

 

Most of the company had got out whole and safe. Bifur, Elya found to her distress, was in a coma, as the pickaxe had been removed from his head and found several feet away in the skull of an orc. He had pulled the axe from his own head, flung it at an enemy, and then collapsed in front of Bombur, who had been felled by a spear to the knee.

 

Bombur still couldn’t walk, and he remained by his cousin’s bedside. Elya visited several times a day, and only once did she venture to apologize for not being able to heal Bifur as she healed Durin’s folk.

 

Bombur had the gall to snort at her.

 

“Hush, little love. You’re a sweet girl, Elya, but we never expected anything from you. You got our love because you were yourself, not because you were some Valar gifted blessing on Dwarrow kind.” Bombur raised an eyebrow and patted his stomach. “Now go get me something tasty, little sister, I’m wasting away in front of you!”

 

Elya found that she was given strange looks in the camp. Whilst bearing water to the healing tents - her (lack of) skills were best put to use as a courier - she found that dwarves, men and elves all gave her side eyed looks. Some shied away, exiting a space when she entered it, others stared hard at her, as if they watched long enough she would start glowing again or something. And others watched her suspiciously, since she definitely didn’t look the part of a valar blessing. She looked nothing more than an unusually short human woman, of indeterminable age.

 

The wizard dismissed her worries. “You are something entirely new, my dear girl.” He beamed at her like a proud grandfather. “A human girl given life as a dwarf blessing, you single handedly have changed our history, our world. Who knows what will happen now.”

 

“But, it wasn’t really _me_ , was it?” She asked, somewhat desperately, “It was the Valar through me! I have no power.”

 

Gandalf hummed, tapping one gnarled finger against his impressive nose. “There was more of you in that tent than you think. And I believe, if you find a way to accept your place in this world, there will be much more power at your fingertips than even I.”

 

This did not sooth her in any way. In fact, it sort of made her feel worse, and she moped about the camp long enough that Kili eventually hunted her down and frowned at her expression.

 

“So you save everyone’s lives and you pout about it?” Kili shook his head, sitting next to her at the fire. Nobody had joined her, and indeed, had doubled up at other fires in order to avoid her company. “Something doesn't seem right about that.”

 

“I don’t want power, Kili, and I shouldn't have existed in the first place. If I’m not just me, what am I? Do I even belong here?” She waved a depressed hand at the many eyes pretending not to watch them. Kili glanced around too, glaring at a group of rather obvious dwarves hard enough that they coughed and broke up, flustered.

 

“Of course you are, Durin’s Gift.” Kili said cheerfully, nudging her with an elbow. “Put here for me, weren’t you?”

 

“Oh don’t call me that.” She tried to laugh, but it turned into a sigh. Kili chewed on his lip a moment.

 

“Would you rather you _didn’t_ have that power? That you weren’t here? That we had gotten all the way to Erebor just to die at its gates, bleeding out on the battlefield?” His voice was dark, bitter. Elya jerked at the thought.

 

“No, of course not!” She cried, “How could you say that?”

 

“Were you not just saying it?” He raised an eyebrow. “Wondering why you are here, questioning your purpose in being _alive_?”

 

Her mouth moved, but no sound came out. She felt spectacularly cornered.

 

“Now what’s the real reason?”

 

Elya screwed her mouth shut, something rising in her chest that left a lump in her throat and made her eyes burn.

 

“Who am I, Kili?” She nearly sobbed, wrapping her arms around herself. She felt ashamed, ugly, like a thing unwanted. “What do I do now?”

 

“You come home.” He said it so simply.

 

“What home do I have, the tree you pulled me out of?” She replied bitterly.

 

He rolled his eyes, impatient, “No, you silly thing, Erebor! You travelled with us all the whole way, Mahal gave you to us specifically, there’s _dwarven_ writing on your arm and you think you don’t belong in the _dwarven_ mountain you helped save?”

 

Elya gaped at him.

 

Kili sighed, rubbing a hand over his face. “Right, you’re not usually this thick. How about this.” He twisted to look at her, clasping her hands in his. He had warm hands.

 

“Elya,” He licked his lips, “You love me, and I love you, yeah?” She nodded, somewhat hesitantly. “Your mine, and I’m yours.” She nodded again, firmer. “Then, within the next few years or so, when we have the mountain back and everyone lives there again, would you honor me, by becoming my wife?”

 

Elya nearly choked on her tongue, and stared at him, shocked beyond words.

 

Kili shook his head, “Don’t answer now, there’s still courting and trials and approvals and stuff to go through. It’s long and over complicated, but here I’m asking you to consider me as husband.” His hands shook as he released hers to reach into his pocket. He drew out what looked like a long cord, his fist wrapped around something.

 

“None of the jewelry fit you, because you are more beautiful just as you are, as I found you in the roots of that tree, practically naked.” She laughed, finding a smile had somehow snuck itself onto her face without her noticing. Kili grinned back at her, some of the nervous energy leaving his expression.

 

“So, the first courting gift would be something of my own, that I would offer you. Usually it’s a bead, or an axe, or something, but I have...this.” He held out his hand. It was one of his arrow heads, threaded onto a long black cord. “It’s nothing grand, but I made it the night before the battle, and didn’t want to give it to you in case I...well, in case I died.” His smile turned a bit pained.

 

“Yes.” She blurted out, feeling like there was an entire stampede of Dain’s war pigs in her stomach. “Yes, Kili, yes!”

 

“Yes?” He repeated, stunned.

 

“Yes!” She took the arrow head necklace from him and kissed it, laughing through a sudden waterfall of tears.

 

Kili whooped, leaping up off the tree bench to wrap her up in his arms and whirl her around. She laughed, and trusted him to not let her fall.  

 

Around them, Elya suddenly found most of the company exclaiming and celebrating, and she and Kili blinked, freezing. The rest continued hooting and jumping, laughing at their expressions.

 

“We may have overheard a few things.” Nori said, grinning unrepentantly. He had an arm around both Bofur and Ori’s necks.

 

“I think a drink is in order!” Gloin crowed, and there was a rowdy “Hurrah!”   


Funerals took precedence, and then a great number of Dain’s dwarves headed back to the Grey Mountains. Ravens were sent out to the Blue Mountains and other dwarf strongholds, calling for strong arms and capable talents.

 

Winter was fast approaching, and both the men of Dale and the remaining dwarves of Erebor would be in a hard place to feed themselves. A meeting with Mirkwood proved that while Thranduil and Thorin would never be friends at all, so long as at least three other neutral parties (Bilbo, Gandalf, Balin) sat between them, then things could get done.

 

Not with any sense of diplomacy of course, but they would not starve and Thranduil would finally get his wife’s starlight jewels.

 

The Arkenstone was set into a great stone monument that sat in the middle of the battlefield of the five armies, and it stood there a silent sentinel watching over the dead. A constant guard kept the memorial, and the Arkenstone, safe. Gandalf had also done some fancy magic, so the stone had somehow melded into its setting and was impossible to remove.

 

Everything was coming along until there was nothing else for it: Thorin had to return to the mountain.

 

There was some resistance.

 

“I have no desire to lose myself again,” Thorin growled to Bilbo, who had his hands on his hips and an angry furrow on his brow. The hobbit stared down the king in a rather public domestic, standing there at the tent opening. “If I return and sink again into gold fever, I do not deserve the mountain.”

 

Bilbo rolled his eyes. “Oh stop being dramatic.” Thorin looked affronted, but it was ruined by his nephew’s snickers. “The mountain is yours whether you want it or not, if you had such doubts you should never have come for it in the first place. Now. Let’s get going, your company has been doing a lot of work with the men and elves in clearing out the treasure hoard, so it’s no longer a dragon’s bathhouse.”

 

“A dragon’s bathhouse?” Elya heard Nori ask quietly, snorting at the thought of it. Bilbo didn’t so much stomp his large hairy foot as give the impression that he did, crossing his arms and possibly not realizing that most of the dwarves around him were trying not to laugh or coo at him.

 

Thorin took on a long suffering look, but they were all soon safely on their way to being ensconced in the mountain. The rubble was cleared and Kili had come running at her when the two orcs were discovered.

 

“Was that you?!” He asked, hands gripping her arms. “Two of them!” He looked a strange combination of impressed and fearful.

 

Elya laughed a little nervously. “Uhm, yes?”

 

“That was why you were limping!” Bofur said. Dwalin cursed in Khuzdul.

 

“What happened to being safe, to hiding?!” Kili ran his hands over her shoulders, kneeling to double check that her feet were still intact.

 

Elya squawked when he took up one of her feet to push and squeeze it, and clutched his head to keep from falling. “Well they were running from the fight and…well, I didn’t want them to enter the mountain.” She pouted at the looks the dwarves gave her.

 

“I’m fine now!” She said loudly over a sudden flurry of activity.

 

“You killed those two orcs?” Dwalin said then, a little impressed.

 

“Only because I caught them by surprise. I fell on one from the top, and the other…well…” Elya blushed at their admiring looks. Kili finally let go of his worry, laughed and picked her up at the hips, sitting her on his shoulder to parade around. It was a bit of a show off, as he used only the one arm to keep her high, his arm muscles bulging beneath her.

 

Elya swore to never tell him that the move made her squirm in the most interesting of ways. Of course, he found out anyways, eventually.

 

“Elya the Fierce!” Nori called.

 

“Elya the Terrific!”

 

“Elya the Beautiful!” Fili laughed, and they were all making such a scene in front of the dwarves who had decided to stay in Erebor. Elya knew she was blushing, but also couldn’t stop smiling.

 

“Elya the Queasy!” She said, knocking on Kili’s head. “Now put me down!” They all laughed, and life was as good as they could make it.

 

There was no feasts, no grand openings. The dwarves moved into the mountain and started work the next day. Years of no use and of a dragon’s spiteful hatred had brought Erebor low, and corpses were found every day, having suffocated in the small hiding places of the mountain.

 

Thorin took each new mass grave with the grace of a broken king, personally attending to their burials until every last one was given the respect and honor they deserved. Few could get him to rest, although Bilbo took it upon himself to become the King’s minder. The rest of the company had found themselves elevated to high noble status practically overnight, as every dwarf under the mountain knew their tale.

 

The only few to come when the king called, the few who took on the dragon, took on Azog, and who all _, remarkably_ , lived. The Company was near enough legend now. Bilbo was coddled, small and unassuming as he was, many couldn’t believe he was so fierce in the tales until they met him, or until someone did something stupid enough to earn his ire. Elya was treated with the same wary respect as Gandalf, and while still uncomfortable with it, she was happy to smile at any and every dwarf that nodded his head to her.

 

When each and every dwarf had been given room and a bed, Thorin stopped her just before her and Kili’s room one evening.

 

“Elya.” He started, conflicting emotions in his eyes. The solemnity of his voice made her still, wondering.

 

“Here.” He took her hand and gently pressed something into it, closing her fingers over. Immediately she recognized its feel, the curve of her bead leaving an imprint on her suddenly clenched palm.

 

“ _Thorin_.” She tried to speak, mouth opening and closing with something but being unable to say it.

 

“Again, I owe you…everything.” He ducked his head in a bow, neck unused to bending being forced to. “I apologize for my cruelty, that day. Your bead, it, it is and is not the Arkenstone, and I couldn’t tell the difference. Not then. You arrived in this world with this as your marker, as what should have told me made you dwarrowkind. I was wrong, and I am sorry.”

 

Licking her lips, Elya finally allowed herself to face the lingering fear and bitterness that had made itself an ugly home in her chest. Yes, Thorin had frightened her. He’d betrayed her trust, and while he had apologized before, it was immediately after all of them had been brought back to life. Now, she figured it was time to…let it go. She opened her palm, and the bead shone in her hand. It grew in brightness the longer she held it, until it returned to the sparkle and shine she remembered as a last hope in the middle of Mirkwood.

 

She hadn’t realized it had dimmed whilst in Thorin’s possession.

 

“Thank you.” She said, forgiveness and love nearly overwhelming her. She threw her arms around him, and smiled into his beard when his strong ones did their best to wrap her up. “Thank you, and I forgive you. Uncle.”

 

Thorin’s smile was hidden in her Ur braids, and their moment lasted.

 

At least until Kili came around the corner, stuffing his face with what looked like Bilbo’s famous apple cobbler.

 

The only dark spot in the company’s hearts was Bifur’s silence. He hadn’t made a move or a sound in the weeks it had taken them to clean out the mountain, and he had already started wasting away in his hospital bed.

 

Elya visited in the dark of night, something waking her with an alarming feeling. Something was screaming at her to rush down and see Bifur, causing her heart to pound and her hands to shake. It was such an awful feeling, Elya didn’t even notice how her sudden gasp and rush to the door woke Kili.

 

She made the trip in the dark, later on marveling at how she managed to find the medical bay in the dark of the hall without an escort. Erebor was confusing for the best of dwarves, let alone for Elya who couldn’t hear the mountain whispering to her.

 

Bifur hadn’t moved, and there was no threat evident in the room. The nurse minder, a dwarf of indistinguishable age and gender, was snoring in the corner, so nobody halted her from appearing by Bifur’s bed and sucking in a deep breath.

 

She could feel his soul, and it shone with the power of the Arkenbead.

 

He was thinner, but not drowning, not sinking away from her like Fili and Kili had been. It was like there was a wall between Bifur’s heart and the world, the wakening breathing world rather than the one of shadows he had been stuck in.

 

She suddenly understood, what the Valar had wanted, and what Gandalf had meant.

 

“Oh, the Valar are kind.” She fought back her tears and reached, and found the burning bright light that had saved her love and her family before. What was odd was that she reached through the bead; she knew for sure that if it had not been returned to her, she would have once again lost herself fin the Valar’s might and died without their kindness. With the bead, their power was dormant, restful, less powerful than it had been that day. She didn’t need all that power, she just needed enough. 

 

Bifur was waiting for the wall to be taken down before he returned, she could take that wall down.

 

Leaning over his prone form, Elya kissed Bifur on the forehead, directly next to his puckered, healed wound.  The light rose, and filled her, filling him too.

 

“Elya?”

 

Kili, she recognized, voice filled with awe and shock and something that rang with devotion. She wondered, vaguely, if she was glowing again, but that didn’t matter so much as the fact that she could feel Bifur swim closer.

 

Releasing Bifur, she leaned back, and smiled when his breathing changed to the easy, gentle breaths of a sleeping dwarf. Another second, and then the silence was broken by a great rattling snore. She tired not the laugh, pressing a hand to her smile. Kili came up beside her, dark eyes wide and disbelieving.

 

“Blessing of the Valar.” She whispered above the noise a sleeping Bifur makes, “They are so kind. We could have all died, they could have been finished with reviving Thorin only, but they didn’t. They gave me…this…this grace so that Durin’s folk could continue. The company…we’re…oh, we’re all blessed.” And she dissolved into happy tears. Bifur’s recovery was considered a miracle by most, save the company who knew that miracles came at the hand of small brown haired women.

 

Nearly a year later, and Elya was just finishing the final touches on her hair and dress. Dwraves were big on ceremonies, and every detail of your appearance said something about who you were. If she were honest, her favorite piece of jewelry was the arrowhead necklace she still wore, hanging between her breasts.

 

“Come on,” Kili grinned at her, taking her hand and moving in the opposite direction they should be.

 

“Wait, aren’t we supposed to be going down to the hall?” Elya picked up her dragging skirts with her other hand. Kili was rushing to bring her down a side hall, climbing stairs towards the royal suite.

 

“They won’t miss us just yet!” His flash of teeth was mischievous.

 

“We’re already late, Kili.” She replied dryly, shaking her head and feeling how her earrings swayed. They weren’t anything gaudy like Kili and Fili had unearthed in the dragon hoard so many months ago; instead a dark, stained gold delicately suspended a polished stone in a small ring. For some reason, it was important to Kili and Fili, and less so Thorin, that she wear the jewelry that dwarf custom demanded of her station (whatever that was). It seemed even more important to her love than to her that they actually _fit_ her, so hence, the earthy materials.

 

Elya could never be a dwarf. She was too small, too delicate, too…human yet not, made of roots and dirt and little bits of nothing and less like stone and anvil. She couldn’t become a dwarf, but she could be accepted by them, odd arrow trinkets and a lack of gaudy gold embroidery and all.

 

“Close your eyes.” Kili grinned at her.

“Kili, your mother is expecting us.” Elya complained, a slight shiver running through her at imagining the look on the dwarrowdam’s face. She did close her eyes though, allowing Kili to draw her through a set of doors somewhere, turn her around and present her with…something.

“Yeah, yeah.” Kili pressed a grinning kiss to her shoulder, felt through the thick fabric of her mauve dress. “Open those eyes.”

She did, and gaped. Was this?

A grand bed, without the tall canopy frame typical of dwarvish design so it stood alone with no obstruction. Attractively carved dresser drawers with a rug that felt like the softest of fabric beneath their feet. A door to the left opened on a bathroom, inset tub and beautifully decorated mirror, and most importantly above their heads, the stone of the ceiling sparkled and shone like the night sky.

“ _Kili_ is this?” She breathed.

“Yea.” He drew her in to stand in the middle. The look on his face was anxiously expectant, watching every change of her face with bated breath. “This is our room.”

“Our room.” She copied, turning a circle with her head tilted back to see the shine and shimmer of their ceiling, their own private piece of sky.

“I love you.” She gasped suddenly, filled to overflow with tears.

“I love you.” He replied, softly, “And I hope you love our home.”

She clutched him, hiding her face in his strong neck. He wrapped his arms around her and squeezed, and her feet left the floor.

“Our home, our mountain, our family, our life.” Elya whispered, gleeful and awed because this is what they had been searching for. Regardless of a dragon, of battles larger and fiercer than any of them were expecting, of trekking long days through wilderness and hunted as though they were prey – _this_ was what it was for. Home.

Elya was so happy she thought she could die of it, and gripping Kili’s impressive ears she kissed him so hard he leaned back with the force of it, groaning. His hands on her hips were tight, and he glibly slid down to get a feel of her.  

“So here you are!” A stern, grumbling voice came from the doorway. “Of _course_ , who needs to be on time to your Uncle, the King’s opening speech, who needs the Prince and Princess there? Nobody, of course, they’re busy _canoodling_.” Dis had searched them out and found them kissing in their newly built bedroom. Well.

That’s awkward.

Kili almost burst into flame from embarrassment, dropping Elya and stepping away as if that could help. Dis gave him a look and he was off like a shot, skidding around his mother through the not-wide-enough doorway and yelling behind him.

“Yes amad, sorry amad, on my way amad!”

His steps echoed before they ended with a crash and a swear. Somehow, Kili had managed to either fall or run directly into someone.

Dis sighed, before holding her hand out to Elya. Her beard had been specially braided for the night’s festivities, and Elya could pick out the shapes and monikers of a Durin. Her own hair had been piled and shaped like the Ur brother’s, curls and whimsical twists interspersed with strong shield like formations.

Elya loved dwarves.

“Come, child, let’s go rescue my errant boy.” Dis smiled at her, and Elya stepped forward, allowing the woman to lock their arms. Still emotional from her epiphany, Elya leaned over and kissed Dis on the cheek.

“I’m so glad your son pulled me from that tree.” She smiled, eyes still a little watery.

Dis looked at her from the corner of her eye, and Elya was pleased to see a small grin returning to her face. “As am I, small blessing.”

When Dis had arrived she’d been a hard, rough woman accustomed to pain and hardship, certain of her family’s demise. Now, she had relaxed into her childhood home as though it was a mantle she could once again wear.

It was a good look on her.

Dis escorted her out, and they discovered Kili attempting to appease a serving dwarf, one who he’d obviously knocked into and sent all sorts of pans flying.

“Oh Kili.” Dis sighed, and Elya couldn’t help her laughter.

This is what life was, one day by one day, altogether becoming something beautiful and strong.

.

.

Elya could taste the future, and it was bright and it was beautiful.

.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Second to last, my lovelies, thank you all so much for sticking around :]


	14. Epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the end, a lovely happy close for our happy girl. Thanks so much for following on with this, and being so kind about a work that honestly is little more than a SIOC fantasy fulfillment, I just hope it filled a few fantasies of your own! 
> 
> xx

It took about forty more years, but Kili grew a beard. It would never reach the lion’s mane of his brother, but it was bushy and strong, as dark as his eyes. Quite a bit like his Uncle’s actually.

His greatest achievement with it was discovering that his daughter absolutely _hated_ being tickled by scratchy dwarf beard.

“Papa!” Dana screeched, writhing about like a many legged worm, “You’re thorny! Stop it!” And yet she couldn’t help her laughter. Kili’s guffaws made a deep counterpoint to her shrill sparkling laughs, and their joy rang in the halls, causing many dwarves and men to smile. On one twist and turn, Elya caught sight of a patch of white skin, a birthmark, on her daughter’s neck. It was a small circle, a clear, bright white in the midst of the darker, ruddier skin she inherited from her father.

It sat directly where Elya’s bead had, as it had when she had woken beneath the tree. The mark of dwarrowkind, as Thorin had called it, forever imprinted on the skin of Durin’s line. Valar’s blessing on their lineage.

At one particular raspberry noise from her husband and daughter, Elya rolled her eyes, one hand on her distended belly and the other on Bifur’s shoulder. The dwarf was a dedicated bodyguard, though she preferred not to think of him that way. He was a steadfast friend, a brother, and while he no longer spoke even the smallest word, his eyes were still their kind, gentle blue. She had taken on the task of re-teaching him how to carve, as his injury had unlearnt many things for him, yet again.

Her back ached, she griped within the privacy of her mind, and her bladder felt too small.

“My Prince,” Dwalin called from the hall, catching Kili’s attention. “Your uncle needs you.” The warrior’s head was still bald and blue, yet his beard had taken on the salt of the earth like his brother. It was the only part of him that showed his age.

“Aye, I’ll be right there.” Kili grinned amidst his daughter’s pouts. He gave her one last kiss, before turning to Elya and gently kissing her cheek. His hands gravitated to her belly, as they always did, and his soft expression was enough to melt even the toughest stone.

“Go on, you know how Thorin gets just before lunch.” Elya waved him off, holding her hand out for her daughter to grasp.

“Let’s go meet Bilbo at the gates, shall we my love? I heard he’s brought many gifts from the Shire to share with us!” She asked, Dana cheering and nearly dragging her to get going. Bifur steadied her on the stairs, and as they trekked down to Erebor’s great open doors, Elya breathed in the scents of the flower pots hung at every corner.

Erebor was no longer the empty echoing stone hall, it was lively and loud. The market was bustling below them, men of Dale, and dwarves of Erebor, even a small contingent of elves meeting and trading with only the typical altercations of their races. Elya privately thought they all enjoyed those little spats, because they were all started with the same themes: dwarves were rough and uncultured, elves pointy eared ponces, and men dull, ant-like creatures.

Dana got tired about halfway there, clambering for Bifur to pick her up. Along the way they picked up Bofur, who extracted himself from his buddies and tankards of good, brown ale to cheerfully update Elya on Bombur’s hoard of children.

“Little Elsie’s almost a woman now, she’s already started picking out beads for the ceremony.” Bofur took her hand to lead her down a flight of stairs, Bifur going ahead with Dana.

“Already?” Elya mused, wincing as Kili’s little boy decided to kick her kidney. “It feels like yesterday I met her and she was still hiding behind her mother’s skirts.”

“Aye, the lass has grown well. Bombur’s proud as any father can be.” Bofur smiled at her, his laughter lines deepening.

“I think we’re all proud.” Elya laughed when Dana kicked at Bifur to put her down. They were nearly to the gate, dwarves and others parting to allow the Princess and her daughter passage. The Ri brothers were already standing at the side, waiting for Bilbo’s contingent of elves and dwarves to arrive.

“Little one has a family of uncles, that’s for sure!” Bofur laughed, clasping hands with Nori.

“Ori, love,” Elya smiled a little wickedly, “Is that a new braid, I see?”

Ori straightened, beaming. “That it is, dearest, Mina put it in herself just yesterday.”

“It’s too early, you’ve only been courting two years.” Dori grumbled, thick arms crossed across his chest.

“Oh hush you,” Ori swatted him lightly.

“Congratulations!” Gloin boomed from behind, his wife and son laughing at everyone’s start. Oin rolled his eyes as he came along, further behind and with his cane. Elya was a little suspicious that he actually needed a cane, as he used it more often as a weapon than an actual walking stick.

A thump and an “Ow!” proved her right seconds later.

“Stand up straight, boy!” Oin snapped at Gimli, who had been bending under the weight of his father’s axes.

“Leave the lad alone, you old codger. I remember when you couldn’t even lift your father’s mace.” Balin appeared from another side, older now and in need of a wheelchair though it didn’t diminish the strength of his arms. Elya bent to kiss his cheek as he came to a stop next to her.

“Ready to see Bilbo again, little lassy?” Balin asked Dana, who was impatiently waiting and fiddling with what looked like a blunted arrow. Her father’s daughter, Elya though a little exasperated. When would she get a child that was more like her? Third? Fifth?

“Yes!” Dana replied, before her small face scrunched. “I don’t remember what he looks like.”

“Well, last time you saw him you were a little babe, could barely even keep your head up.” Balin said with a smile, nostalgia filling his voice.

“I was never that small.” Her answer clearly told him she thought he was senile.

Dwalin laughed hardily, appearing out of nowhere to pick the small girl up and dangle her upside down. She screeched at him, wiggling ferociously and attempting to kick him in the nose.

Hands came around Elya’s hips, coming to rest over her stomach. A prickly chin settled at the nape of her neck and a pointy nose prodded at her ear. She was suddenly awash with half remembered memory, of a lifetime waking up to that self-same nose poking at her and flushed with that familiar but no less pleasant feeling she got when Kili was being cute.

“Ready to see Bilbo again?” Kili muttered to her, obviously enjoying how his little girl ( _his child! He_ made _that!_ ) was trying valiantly to stab a chortling Dwalin with her blunted arrow. Elya despaired at violent dwarvish tendencies.

“I was ready months ago.” Elya replied smiling at Fili and Dis who came up to her side arm in arm. Fili had grown into the blond king-to-be he was always meant to be, so like Thorin and yet, greater. It was true that the younger generation always grew to surpass the old ones, as Fili was now the Lion-Maned Prince known for bringing about the Great Council of all Dwarven kingdoms across Middle Earth. Thorin, thin iron circlet for a crown on his head and a smile playing around his eyes, stood further along, ready to receive the ‘official Hobbit delegation’. He stood tall and strong, though older now and nearly as grey as a grandfather. Well, technically he was a grand _uncle_.

“Incoming!” A sentry called, and the Company came to attention.

Bilbo and his escort were coming up the pass, walking along doggedly like any good Hobbit, small and unassuming next to the armored dwarves and tall, willowy elves.

Beside him walked a small creature, tiny and trusting, with dark hair and green, green eyes. Elya felt the future flicker and move, shaping itself around the small fauntling clinging to his Uncle Bilbo’s hand.

“Frodo Baggins.” Elya mumbled, knowing and unknowing all at once. Fate rested on small shoulders, expectations and hopes and dreams of several races hung heavily over a small head. Half-vague notions of what could have happened disappeared from her mind as she watched the small child come closer, gaping in awe at the great open gate of Erebor.

.

.

She loved him already.


End file.
